Practical Romance
by Prisoner 24601
Summary: A series of stories about the unexpected romantic entanglements between a Grey Warden, Ferelden's Queen, a bastard princeling and a wild witch. Chapter 8 - "Fait Accompli" When the Warden refuses to complete the dark ritual, Morrigan finds another way...
1. Aftershocks

A/N: This is a series of fics that all tie together with the same characters. The stories aren't exactly in chronological order, but hopefully since each was written as a stand alone it will be easy to follow the threads between them.

Finally, a big thank you to Kosiah for the excellent beta.

_**Aftershocks**_

Alistair threw his hands up in the air. "Maker's breath, you're just making this up!"

He'd officially been King for less than one week, and already he was itching to grab his sword and shield and sneak off to the Deep Roads. Getting torn apart by darkspawn had to be a better fate than the mind-numbing tedium of putting a wedding together. He scowled down at the seating chart for the banquet scheduled to follow his impending nuptials. They'd been fussing over it for two solid hours and Alistair was ready to toss the damn thing into the fire. "It can't possibly matter if we seat Lady Maris and Arlessa Isolde at the same table!"

Anora's delicate golden eyebrows lifted. "Of course it matters." Her tone suggested that he was a simpleton for not seeing such a thing. Perversely, it made him want to prove her right and act like one.

He squashed that urge and crossed his arms. It was a gesture that felt unfamiliar without armor. "How? Both ladies are our allies and we honor them both by seating them at one of the closest tables."

"Isolde and Maris have been rivals for years_, _for everything from who they married, to the richness of their wardrobes, to the success of their children. You know that despite the Grey Warden's victory, mages are still deeply feared, and with Isolde's only child being stripped of his title and sent to the circle for training, Lady Maris will use the occasion of our nuptials as an opportunity to gloat. It will be an absolute _disaster_. The last thing we need right now is petty bickering among our allies."

Alistair made a sweeping gesture at the table piled with papers and scrolls with his callused hand. "Then move Lady Maris to a different table."

"Right, but the problem is which one."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Oh, I get it. You're testing me, aren't you? This is the royal version of hazing the new recruit." Alistair pointed his finger at her. "Well I'm onto you."

He intended his response as a joke to relieve the tension between them, but there was too much truth to his words for comfort. While he certainly respected Anora's ability to govern – an ability she'd proven time and time again over the course of the last five years – he didn't trust the woman that was to be his wife. When he'd insisted on being more than just a figurehead, more than just a king to be trotted out and paraded in front of cheering crowds, and demanded a real place at her side in governing Ferelden, she had seemed surprised by his ambition. There was a part of him that was beginning to wonder if she was burying him in tedious minutia just to break his will and send him scurrying out of the room.

But to her credit, Anora looked like she was just as tired and frustrated with this whole mess as he was. She shot him a sympathetic look that he might have believed if it had come from anyone other Loghain's daughter. "Alistair, I realize that you were not trained for this, and that you think seating charts trivial and unimportant, but I assure you they are not. This is our wedding banquet. It will set the tone for the beginning of our reign. I am not doing this to aggravate you.

"You asked me to teach you these things, but if you have changed your mind, I can take care of them myself." She sighed and gestured towards the study door with one elegant hand. "Perhaps you would like to take a break and go see your friends."

"No, no. I said I wanted to learn and I meant it." He stood and stretched his cramped legs and started to pace the study. Sitting still for long periods of time was something found very difficult. He was going to have to find time to start an exercise regimen before he went to fat and his skills completely dulled. "Go on, then. I'm listening."

"Obviously we cannot move Isolde and Eamon, so it must be Lady Maris and her son. But most of the tables are already full, and if we move her too far back, she will be insulted. She may be a widow and a glorified merchant, but she is extremely wealthy, and her son holds a small estate that is also the nexus of a major trade route. We will need her cooperation to get the trade lines running again."

Alistair stopped pacing and peered over her slight shoulder at the chart on the table. "Lady Maris is interested in trade, hrmm? You should put her next to King Bhelen's representatives then."

Anora looked up at him. "Next to the Dwarves?" He thought she was going to dismiss him or tell him what an idiot he was, but instead she looked at him intently and asked, "Why?"

For a moment, he felt like a boy back in the chantry being singled out by old Sister Marianne to answer a question in front of the whole class. He wondered if Anora was going to pull out a cane from under the table and rap his knuckles if he gave the wrong answer.

Alistair cleared his throat and said, "Well... with their new king, trade is starting to open up again and rich people always seem to want more money, don't they? She and the Dwarves might have much to talk about."

Anora's blue green eyes widened a bit, telling him she was surprised by his answer. She looked back down at the chart in front of her and picked up her quill and made a notation on the scroll. "She and her son would have to be moved back two rows, but if I send her a note phrasing this as opportunity and not a slight, I think she will be very well pleased."

She looked up at him and smiled. "Very good, Alistair!"

Alistair was torn between being irritated with the fact that she was so obviously shocked he'd come up with an intelligent solution and being pleased to have won the praise of a woman who was so obviously competent.

"You think so? Do I get a cookie and a pat on the head now? Maybe get to stay up an hour or so past my bedtime as a reward?"

Alistair hadn't realized how much Anora's smile brightened the room until it was gone. Her features smoothed out into the calm, attentive mask she usually wore, but her mortification was betrayed by the pink stain on her fair cheeks.

"I am sorry," she said. "I did not mean to offend you."

Feeling like a complete ass, he was about to tell her that he was only teasing, when one of their servants entered.

"The Grey Warden requests to see you, sire."

Alistair's mood darkened immediately. "Which one?" he demanded. "It better not be that bastard, Loghain."

At his words, the color drained out of his betrothed's face, but Alistair did not care. The first thing he had done once they had reclaimed the castle from the darkspawn, was to forbid Loghain from ever stetting foot in it again.

"No." The deep voice came from the large man who filled the doorway. "It's just that bastard, Amell."

The tension in Alistair's shoulders eased only slightly when he saw the man he'd once considered as close as a brother. Marcus Amell stepped into the room as Anora dismissed the servant. As the door closed, the Grey Warden greeted Alistair's soon-to-be wife with a deep bow, before taking her hands and asking, "I trust that the Queen is well?"

Anora gave a soft smile to the mage with the plain face and a sword strapped to his back. "Please, Marcus. Three's no need for formalities amongst friends."

Alistair's brows lifted. "Oh, is that what we all are? Good to know."

Marcus completely ignored him, still focused on Alistair's wife-to-be. "You'll be happy to hear that your father's wounds continue to mend. He is waiting for you in our rooms at the Pearl if you have time to see him."

"The Queen visiting her traitor father in his rooms at a whorehouse? Fantastic!" Alistair said. "That won't set tongues wagging, now will it?"

Anora gave Alistair a glance that made Marcus's powerful frost magic seem warm and toasty, before turning back to the mage. "Thank you for everything that you have done." She looked like she wanted to say more, but she hesitated, clearly reluctant to withdraw her hands from the Grey Warden's. When she finally did, she turned back to Alistair. "I will be back before supper. We can finish then if you wish."

His future wife didn't wait for a response, she simply glided out of the room and closed the door.

"What do you want?" Alistair demanded the moment she was gone.

Marcus moved across the room and held his large, callused hands over the fire. "Answers."

There was no accusation or anger in Marcus's tone, which on the whole, was rather disappointing. When Alistair didn't say anything, Marcus just sighed. "You slept with Morrigan, didn't you? You did the ritual."

There was no point in denying it, even if Alistair had wanted to. The answer was obvious. "Yes."

He could see the big man's shoulders tense up. Someone who didn't know Marcus very well, someone who hadn't spent over a year standing shoulder to shoulder with this man against countless darkspawn would not have noticed. But Alistair did, and he knew that underneath the implacable calm exterior, Marcus was absolutely furious. Satisfaction warmed Alistair's belly.

"Why? You couldn't possibly think that it would make me jealous."

"Of course it wouldn't." Alistair had known that while Marcus and Morrigan had often shared a tent, that there was little love left between the two mages – certainly not enough to cause a jealous rage on Marcus's part.

"Then why?" Marcus's temper broke through the surface raising the volume of his voice until it rang throughout the whole study. "Why the hell would you make a such a terrible deal with _that bitch_?"

Alistair's anger and resentment that had been simmering since the Landsmeet went white hot once again. "Because you spared Loghain's life! You made the man, who nearly destroyed our order, who slaughtered my friends, who killed the man that I loved as a father, a Grey Warden. You bestowed upon him the honor of becoming one of us – and if that wasn't insult enough, you were going to let him die a hero!" He pointed a finger at Marcus's chest. "And I will be damned if I see Loghain remembered as the Grey Warden who died saving Ferelden from the Archdemon!"

Marcus flung his arms wide. "Have you thought about what you've done? Morrigan's out there now, pregnant with a royal bastard that has the soul of an ancient god!"

But it wasn't only anger that Alistair had been carrying, there was shame too and that seared through him at the Grey Warden's words. "Don't you think I know that? Morrigan came to me when I was drunk and angry over _your_ betrayal. After my _best friend_ sullied the thing that mattered to me the most. She told me what you and Loghain had planned, and told me that I could stop it. So I did."

"Dammit, Alistair!" Marcus dragged a hand over his face. "If I had known you were this irresponsible, I would have never pushed for you to take the throne."

Even through his anger and betrayal, the words stung, but he was not going to apologize. Not to this man. "I did everything you asked of me. Agreed to take the throne and marry my half-brother's widow because I trusted your judgment and then you stabbed me in the back twice!"

"Sparing Loghain was a tactical decision."

"Really? Because from where I was standing, it looked to me like it was a decision made to impress a pair of pretty blue-green eyes."

The Grey Warden straightened up to his full height, "Do not drag the Queen into this." Even Alistair had to admit that he was intimidating.

But Alistair was not about to back down. Not about this. Not until he got Marcus to admit that why he had made the choice in the first place. "You made that decision because you love her."

For once, Marcus's pain was clear across his broad features. "The only feelings I have for the Queen are admiration and loyalty. It _cannot_ be anything more than that." Marcus turned his broad back to Alistair, stared into the fire, and said after a time, "Sparing her father's life and allowing him a heroic death was the only thing I could give her Alistair, because it also happened to be for the good of Ferelden."

Leliana told stories around their campfire about heroes that fell in love at first sight, but Alistair never thought he'd ever witness it happening until Marcus Amell had laid eyes on the captured Queen. Of all people, it seemed impossible that it would happen to someone as fiercely practical, shrewd and focused on duty as Marcus, but the big man had fallen fast and hard. Alistair was unsure how much Anora cared for him back or if they'd ever acted on Marcus's passion, she was always so guarded around him and others, but he knew that Marcus was not fool enough to feel pain and regret for a woman who did not at least share his feelings.

Even Anora's ruthless pragmatism did not seem to bother the Grey Warden; in fact, he seemed to love and respect her all the more for it. Which was why Alistair had been completely shocked when Marcus, of all people, had pushed the idea of a political marriage on both a reluctant Anora and Alistair. But then, perhaps that shouldn't have been surprising considering Marcus had a strong pragmatic streak of his own. It had been the best solution to unite Ferelden. They had all known it. Now they were all trying to live with that decision.

Alistair's anger eased a bit with his friend's admission because despite everything that had happened, he hated seeing Marcus's grief. The confirmation that the Grey Warden spared the traitor for love somehow made the decision more bearable.

Alistair sighed and stalked over to where there was wine set out on a polished silver tray. He filled a goblet nearly to the brim and took a liberal swallow. "You should be the one marrying her and taking the throne."

Alistair poured another goblet of wine and held it out to Marcus who crossed the room and took it gratefully. "I am the son of farmers. I am mage and a Grey Warden. It is what it is. We have to face facts."

"Just like that?"

"No, not just like that! But we each have our duties. Ferelden needs strong monarchs as well as Grey Wardens. You know that as well as I."

"And one of _my_ duties is siring an heir on the woman you love."

Marcus gave Alistair a pointed and pained look. "Yes, well, we all have to find ways to make peace with things we thought we'd never be able to accept."

The two men looked at each other and silence fell between them.

Finally, Alistair spoke. "I hate this."

Marcus took a long swallow of his wine before he said, "Despite being an idiot sometimes, you are a good man. If you're smart enough to learn from Anora, and I think you are, you'll make a good King." Marcus shook his head. "And the next time you're angry with me, just come punch me in the gut, all right?"

"And what about Morrigan? Do you think we should try and hunt her down?"

"I think that we have no chance of finding her unless she wants to be found," Marcus said, confirming the conclusion that Alistair had already come to on his own. "Besides, there are still bands of darkspawn to hunt down, as well as rebuilding to do. Neither of us have the men to spare. We will just have to hope that she meant what she said about doing no harm to Ferelden and deal with it later if it turns out she lied."

Marcus shot Alistair a wry look. "At least one good thing came out of this. You finally had a woman."

Alistair could feel the heat of the flush that crept all the way up to his ears. "There is that, yes." He cleared his throat and changed the subject. The less thought or said about that, the better. "Are you staying for the wedding?"

Marcus nodded, his expression carefully blank. "For the ceremony, but we will be leaving shortly thereafter." The Grey Warden didn't give a reason, but then, he didn't have to. They both knew why he was going so soon.

"And Loghain?"

"Will not be there. But he will be your wife's father. You are going to have to find a way to make peace with his continued existence, especially since you are the cause of it." At Alistair's glare, Marcus shook his head and put the goblet down. "And now I will leave you to your wedding plans."

"Abandon me is more like," Alistair muttered. "You are a cruel, cruel man."

Marcus's tone was dry. "Making you King and forcing you to marry an intelligent, capable and beautiful woman? Yes, I am a right bastard aren't I?"

Marcus strode for the door, stopping and turning at the doorway. He met Alistair's eyes one more time and said, "Please be good to her, Alistair," before jerking the door open and walking out.

Alistair watched the Grey Warden go, half wishing that he was still free to join him, half bitter that both his best friend and worst enemy had made that impossible, before returning to the table, picking up the seating chart and getting back to work.


	2. Undone Part One

A/N: This is a series of fics that all tie together with the same characters. The stories aren't completely in chronological order since I really don't write them that way and may add more later as I fill in the gaps between them, but hopefully since each was written as a stand alone it will be easy to follow the threads between them.

Also, this was originally written for a LJ kink meme prompt, so it should probably go without saying that the fic earns its M rating and is NSFW.

* * *

_**Undone – Part One**_

Anora was deeply vexed despite the fact that she had every reason to be pleased.

For the first time in over a year, she was regaining the political footing she'd lost after Cailan's death. Despite the rocky start and a gross miscalculation of the Grey Warden's intelligence (which had led to the unfortunate series of events sending both the mage and Maric's bastard temporarily to Fort Drakon), she had a finally found an ally in her quest to secure her throne. Marcus Amell was everything she could have hoped for: intelligent, canny and ruthlessly practical, and had already declared his support her for claim when Landsmeet was assembled in a few weeks time.

And yet she found herself at her wits end, not so much by anything the man had done, but by her completely inconvenient attraction to him. Anora's desire had ambushed her; a nasty shock to a woman who had long thought herself past such trivial and frivolous whims. Nothing had prepared her for the way he had crept into her thoughts. Worse, she was completely certain the way she felt was completely and utterly one sided. He was all stoic politeness, which should have been a relief, but instead made her insides knot as though she was a foolish young maiden instead of a woman of three decades.

It simply would not do. She was a Queen, a woman of intellect and reason, and a _Mac Tir._ She would conquer her wayward thoughts, just as soon as she could bring herself to stop staring at Amell's callused, ink stained hands and wondering what they would feel like gliding over her bare skin.

"What do you think, Anora?" Eamon asked.

His words snapped her out of her thoughts. She blinked. "I… I'm sorry, what?"

Eamon's bushy brows rose in surprise at her uncharacteristic inattentiveness, but it was the mage sitting next to her that spoke. Marcus frowned at her, his brown eyes crinkling with concern. "Are you well, m'lady?"

"I'm fine!" she protested a bit too strongly, instantly regretting her sharp tone to a man who had been nothing but accommodating to her. She sighed and touched her temple with the tips of her fingers. "I just… I suppose I am a bit tired."

"We should break for the day then," Eamon said as he rose from the chair.

"No!" She swallowed and pushed the frustration from her voice, evening out her tone. "No. This is important-"

Eamon reached across the table to give her hand a fatherly pat that both of them knew he did not mean. It was everything she could do to keep him from jerking her hand back. "It is all right, Anora. It will be two more weeks before the Landsmeet will be able to assemble fully. We will have plenty of time to plan our strategy."

He stood and turned to face the Warden. "Of course this would be much easier if you would consider my proposal as… an alternative."

Anora's spine stiffened, but her face remained blank. She had not expected Eamon to desist his quest to put Maric's bastard on the throne, but she had not expected him to be so blatant either. That he was daring to do so in front of her, even in veiled terms, was a sign of just how precarious her position truly was.

"Perhaps you are right, Arl Eamon." The Grey Warden paused, and for a heartbeat Anora couldn't breathe. Eamon's eyes practically gleamed in triumph as the Warden rose from his seat. "I think now would be an excellent time to break for the day."

It took all of Anora's poise to keep the satisfaction from her face when Eamon's lips turned down as though he had swallowed something sour. He pinned the Grey Warden with something that was just short of a glare, before dropping a curt nod.

"Of course. Rest will do us all good and hopefully allow us to see the situation more clearly in the morning. Good evening." Eamon turned his gaze to her. "Anora," he said, her name dripping with all of his thwarted frustration.

They watched Eamon leave in silence. When the door closed behind the Arl, the Grey Warden frowned and sat down again. "He speaks highly of your abilities and yet takes every opportunity to undermine your authority."

That Marcus had seen through Eamon's constant attempts made her like him even more, but still she chose her words with care. "Eamon is a traditionalist. He wishes to see the Theirin bloodline on the throne and he is willing to do much to accomplish his goal."

Marcus's frown deepened. "Including pushing your husband to put you aside."

Anora's eyes widened. Her surprise was followed by the sting of failure that always followed when she thought about her marriage to Cailan. "How did you know?"

He turned his gaze to her. "We passed through Ostagar a few months back and found a letter from Eamon to the King."

"I see," she said softly. "He was close to doing it. He never talked about it to me, but I could tell." She looked down at her twisting hands in her lap, mortified that this man should be witness to such a personal shame. "They blamed me for the lack of children, you see."

Something dark and dangerous flashed across Amell's broad features as he spoke. It made her shiver until she realized it was not directed at her. "Of course they did. You were his lowborn wife."

"For all I know, they were right," she admitted. "Although as far as I could tell there were never any children from any of his dalliances." She'd kept track of as many as she could. Another humiliation, but a necessary task nonetheless.

Anora took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. "But that is all in the past, and now I must work with Eamon the best that I can."

He looked at her with that unnerving thoughtful gaze and nodded his approval. With a start, she realized that Amell's opinion mattered to her. It was another vexing thought, somehow more disturbing than the physical attraction she felt.

"I am grateful that you haven't changed your mind," she added. "For a moment, I thought you had."

His tone grew rueful. "Sorry about that. I confess that I do not like the man. He has hurt people that I care about very much."

Anora knew that he must be speaking of Alistair. It had become obvious within moments of watching the men together that they were as close as brothers. Except that with the way he was looking at her so intently, it seemed like more. Like he meant her as well. But he couldn't mean that, so Anora shoved that ridiculous thought aside as the foolish product of wishful thinking.

"But I have given you my word that I will help you regain your throne," he continued. "I mean to stand by it."

"Thank you," she said, wondering if she could truly trust this man the way that she wanted to.

"You seem surprised. Is it that difficult to believe?" His lips twitched. "After all, you argued so vehemently for it, and made very compelling case. It would have been very convincing, if I hadn't already decided to support your claim even before we even met."

Once again, the mage had taken her completely by surprise. "You did?"

"M'lady, you did the hard work of ruling this nation for five years, while your husband rode about on his steed in his golden armor. Your reputation is well known and your skill is appreciated by people who are not fools."

She simply blinked at him and for the first time in years she could feel the heat of her cheeks staining pink. Overwhelmed, it took her a few seconds to put words into a coherent sentence. "It has been a long time since anyone has appreciated or recognized the work that I've done." She sighed softly. "Or actually listened to anything that I've said."

Marcus leaned toward her slightly, resting his elbow on the table. His large hand clenched into a fist. "I know," he said. "You deserve better than that."

Something deliciously warm spread through her belly, urging her to drift closer to him, but before she could decide what to do about it, the door opened.

Marcus shifted back in his seat as his assassin with the tattooed face came through the door, shaking his head.

"Marcus, my friend you are completely hopeless. We finally return to the capitol with all of its entertainment and amusements, and you end up in the _library_." The elf's brows lifted, and his grin doubled in size as he shifted his gaze to her. Zevran dropped into an elaborate bow. "Although perhaps not as hopeless as I thought if beautiful women are to be found in such dusty places as this. I must visit libraries more often, it seems."

The mage's tone was wry. "Was there something that you needed?"

"There are many things that I need. Women, wine, but mostly sovereigns, because as you know, the information you require for your Landsmeet does not come cheap."

Marcus reached into the folds of his long robes and withdrew a purse. The coins inside clinked as he tossed it to the elf. "Take Leliana with you and stay out of trouble. And Zev, The Pearl is not on the way to the Alienage."

The elf clasped a hand over his heart. "Marcus, you wound me. I would not be so derelict in my duty." He hefted an over dramatic sigh. "Although, Isabella's ship is in port…"

"Scout out the Alienage. Report to me in the morning, and let me know what you find."

"You are such a cruel task master, but I will do as you bid while you sit here in comfort and worship at the feet of a goddess."

Marcus's amusement was laced in his voice. "Good."

The elf turned to leave, but then reached into one of his pouches and handed the Warden something small that was wrapped in velvet cloth. "Oh, I almost forgot. These came from the Wonders of Thedas for you."

"Excellent. Thank you."

The mage unwrapped the small package as the assassin left, and pulled out the absolute last thing Anora would have expected. The spectacles were delicate and gold rimmed, and looked like they might break any second underneath his large hands.

Anora's brows lifted. "You wear spectacles?"

"I'm afraid so. All of the years in the tower reading books by candlelight has taken a toll it seems."

It should not have been easy to picture this man hunched over a pile of dusty tomes. Marcus was enormous, nearly as large as the Qunari he traveled with, and looked like he belonged on a farm pushing a plow. And yet she could see the image of it clearly in her mind, of this educated man with his ink stained hands frowning over an ancient book as he read late into the night, and it was completely and utterly endearing.

He picked up the spectacles and stood, moving over to one of the bookshelves. "Wynne insisted that I start wearing them to read after I nearly got everyone killed."

At her questioning look, he continued. "It was when the Circle was overrun by demons. When we went to face Uldred, there was a liturgy I needed to read to stop the abominations from coming, and I couldn't make out the words. It was Wynne who ended up doing the chant at the very last moment."

"Why haven't I seen you wear them before?"

His face remained blank but his tone turned wry. "Because they were broken when I was captured and taken to Fort Drakon."

"Oh." Chagrin washed over her as she remembered how she lied to Cauthrien after her presence had been revealed and the battle that had followed. She twisted her hands in her lap. "Once again, I am sorry for that. I should have trusted your motives."

This time she surprised herself by actually meaning the apology.

He shrugged. "Well, that was partially my fault," he said, as slipped the spectacles on.

She expected the spectacles to look ridiculous on the large mage with the broad shoulders and plain face, but they suited him. Reason and sense and prudence fled. Anora couldn't do anything but stare as the desire she had been trying to hold back washed over her unchecked.

Maker help her, but she wanted him.

"You asked me not to reveal your presence and I should have listened, but I was," he cleared his throat and turned to the books on the shelves, "distracted."

She stood and steadied herself with her hand on the table, intending to do the sensible thing and leave but unable to bring herself to do it. All she could see was the moment she met him and the dumbfounded way he'd stared at her when the door had opened. At the time, she had been confused by his reaction and dismissed him as a simpleton, which in hindsight was a huge mistake. Marcus had looked at her the exactly the same way that she was looking at him right now, and it finally occurred to her that it might be for the same reason.

"Distracted by what?" she breathed.

His broad shoulders tensed under the fabric of his robes. For a moment he just stood there, the flat of his hand resting against the spines of the books, and she thought he wasn't going to answer. But then he turned to face her, his intense gaze magnified by the spectacles he wore.

"By you," he said. "I was… distracted by you."

Anora blinked. Even though it was she'd hoped he'd say, even though the words spoke to the lonely ache that had been in her chest for years, she still cursed her own weakness and foolishness.

To dally with this man was beyond dangerous, both to her claim to the throne and her own personal safety. He was a mage, she was a Queen and they had a nation to save. And yet, she couldn't bring to her lips the necessary words to discourage him.

The best she could manage under the circumstances was a neutral, "I see."

The silence stretched as he continued to study her through his spectacles. "I have offended you," he said, as his jaw tightened.

It was a way out, one that if she were wise, she would take. But wisdom, it seemed, was in short supply. She could not allow him to believe that she thought ill of him.

"No," she said. "I am not offended, Marcus."

He blinked and his face softened into something that looked like wry chagrin. "No doubt the admiration of men is something you're used to."

"I have had my share of compliments from ambitious men since Cailan's death, yes."

Whispered words and false promises from men who thought she was fool enough to place them on the empty throne beside her. Men who thought to wait out her father's regency and be handed the reins of a nation because of some pretty words and sparkling baubles.

Marcus's face went blank and his voice did not rise, but nonetheless it was clear that she had wounded him. "I am not those men. I have no expectations or demands of you other than your help to end this blight."

"I didn't mean to imply that you did." She twisted her hands. "What I meant is that I am used to complements, but not sincerity. You leave me at a loss, Warden."

He moved toward her, stopping just short of her. His brows lifted over the golden frame of his spectacles. "I don't believe that. There must be many other men who have noticed how incredible you are."

Heat spread through her belly at his words. She looked up at him, meeting his gaze. "I think I intimidate most men. I am certain that I intimidated even Calian at times, and he knew me my entire life."

Usually it worked to her advantage. There were times that she even found it useful. Anora would much rather be listened to than fawned over, but she had learned the hard way that it was not a reaction that she desired from the husband who, despite his glaring flaws, she had loved. She suspected that it was the reason he had sought the bed of others so often.

Marcus took her hand in his, engulfing her slender fingers in his large hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles. "Any man who cannot appreciate your intelligence as well as your beauty is unworthy of you."

Sparks of heat skittered across her skin. With the courtly gesture finished, he should have dropped her hand, but instead he turned it over and pressed his lips to her palm.

She was overwhelmed by the intimacy. Heat seared through her palm straight to her belly. Anora's knees threatened to buckle, but she didn't pull away, not even when he pressed his lips to the soft skin at the pulse point of her wrist.

Anora grazed his jaw with her slender fingers and pulled her hand back enough to brush her thumb across his lip. She wasn't certain whether she drew him down to her, or he closed the distance on his own but the next thing she knew his mouth was on hers.

His kiss was neither the tentative brush of lips she expected, nor the gentle and affectionate familiarity that her husband's had been. It was a hungry and intense demand as Marcus's quiet stoicism crumbled away. Anora responded to his passion in kind, kissing him back and curling her fingers into the fabric of his robes and pulling him closer. He wrapped his arms around her, until the length of his body was pressed against hers in a way that left no doubt of the strength of his desire.

She gasped as the cool metal of his spectacles brushed the tender skin under her ear as his lips swept to the column of her neck and to her earlobe. Pleasure warred with frustration. He was too tall for her to wind her arms around his neck the way that she wanted or to taste his skin. All she could do was breathe in the scent of clean male and autumn leaves until he claimed her lips again.

Finally Marcus pulled back and rested his forehead against hers. His brown eyes were hazy behind his spectacles. "We have to stop."

She knew he was right, but for the life of her she couldn't think why, so she pulled him back into another kiss. His hands slid up her sides, until his thumb brushed against the underside of her breast. She moaned and arched into his palm.

He pulled back again, this time placing his large hands on her shoulders and moving her back until her backside hit the table behind her. Marcus swallowed and then spoke in a hoarse voice. "Anora, if we don't stop, I'm going to take you right here on this table."

That he wanted her that badly brought a purely feminine curl of satisfaction to her belly, but it was tempered with the knowledge that anyone could walk in on them at any moment.

She nodded and moved back farther, cursing herself for her stupidity. "You're right, if Eamon found us…" Anora had no doubt that the Arl would have no scruples about using a lapse in chastity against her. For a King with a noble bloodline, dalliances were expected. For a commoner Queen, even a dowager one, dalliances were treason. But her disappointment was quite profound, and the lonely ache in her chest burned cold once again as she struggled to compose herself.

"But I…" She swallowed the rest of the words, knowing that it did not matter what she wished, the circumstances were what they were.

Marcus dropped his hands and rubbed his jaw. He looked at her with his intent gaze once again, and she could tell he was weighing something in his mind. "There is another way. Tonight, I can come to you."

She didn't know what to say. Whatever means of getting into her room that he could devise, no doubt magical, they were still under Eamon's roof. There would still be the chance of discovery, and thus the danger of losing everything. But maker preserve her, she wanted this man in her bed so badly that the thought of facing the night alone after what had just happened between them was unbearable.

He took her hand. "You are the one with the most to lose. This has to be your decision. If you decide that this is worth the risk, then leave your window open and I will come. If not, then I will understand and accept it." He set her hands free and nodded to the door. "You should go before anyone gets suspicious."

She nodded, and with one last look at the man that she wanted for a lover, she slipped through the door not knowing what her decision was going to be.


	3. Undone Part Two

_**Undone – Part Two  
**_

Anora was not going to open the window.

It was a decision she'd come to minutes after leaving the Warden in the library. There was simply no other rational, practical choice to make.

She repeated this to herself many times over the course of the next few hours. When she found herself unable to eat and dismissed herself from dinner early. As she bathed in scented water, and as Erlina brushed and dried Anora's hair by the fire until it fell in golden waves to her waist. As she chose the most becoming of Isolde's borrowed sleeping gowns. While she dismissed her handmaiden, locked the door, and blew out the candles so the only light in the bedchamber was the soft glow of the fire in the hearth. Until there was nothing left to do in the silence of the night except pace before the closed window and war with her traitorous heart.

Anora lost track of the number of times she resolved to turn in to bed, each time balking at the thought of spending the night alone, but eventually she found herself still before the window with her hand on the cold glass. With a defeated sigh she lifted the latch and opened the casement. The cold autumn wind washed over her, blowing her hair behind her as she peered out into the dark courtyard below. She wrapped her arms about her middle, shivering as she waited.

Nothing happened. Several minutes passed in cold, underwhelming silence. She studied the wall below the window, but the drop was sheer and there no handholds or vines that he could climb upon that she could see.

Chilled and feeling more than a bit foolish, she moved back to the fireplace and pulled a shawl about her shoulders. Anticipation distorted time making the few minutes that passed seem like a small eternity, allowing doubt to creep in – not about how foolish she was being, because she was already well aware of that – but that the mage had changed his mind and decided she was not worth the extra complication. Or worse, that she had waited too long and he'd given up entirely.

But just as her stomach dropped to her toes at that thought, there was a flurry of movement by the window. Anora's eyes widened when the great white owl flew into the room. She fell back a few steps, dropped the shawl and reached for the iron poker next to the hearth, wondering whether she should shout for help from the guards. There was a crackle of power that charged the room and then the owl became a man causing another gasp.

"Maker's Breath," she said as she lowered the poker.

Marcus moved to the locked door, placing his palms against the wood as he murmured some words she could not make out. Anora regained her scattered wits, crossed the room and fumbled to latch the window, drawing the heavy curtains over the leaded glass. She turned back just in time to see the glowing white rune fade into the heavy wooden door.

He walked over to her and gently took the iron poker that she didn't realize she was still clutching in a white knuckled grip and set it aside. His eyes were creased with worry behind the spectacles he still wore. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

Power still thrummed around him striking home that this man was dangerous. She could feel the magic humming across his skin when he took her hands, but she didn't pull away. "No. I am an idiot. I should have realized the owl was you. I didn't know that was possible."

"It is..." He paused and frowned. "…not something they teach in the Tower, but useful nonetheless." His lips twitched slightly as he shifted closer. "Although this is the first time I've ever used it to sneak into a woman's bedchamber."

She arched an eyebrow as her eyes darted to the door. "But not the first time you've used magic to stay undetected while with a lover."

His tone turned wry. "With the Templars always watching, you learn to get creative when you want privacy. The ward will warn me if anyone tries to enter tonight."

She let out a breath. "That is reassuring," she said, relaxing only a bit. Anora was still all nerves and sparking anticipation. Maker help her, she hadn't been this nervous when she'd come to Cailan as a maiden on her wedding night. Then again she suspected the comfortable familiarity of knowing Cailan his whole life and a liberal amount of wine had helped ease the process considerably.

The way Marcus was kneading her hands wasn't helping. The delicious ache that spread through her body at his touch was unsettling as it was pleasurable.

His brows knit over the rims of his spectacles. "You don't look very reassured. If you've changed your mind now that you've seen my magic -"

Anora pulled one of her hands away, brushing the tips of her fingers over his lips to silence him. "I haven't." She met his gaze. "It's not your magic, Marcus. It's that it's been a long time since I've been with a man and I have never taken a lover. I am simply nervous."

The lines around his eyes smoothed out. He slid his free hand into her unbound hair, while his other arm wrapped around her waist pulling her close. He bent and nuzzled the skin of her temple, his breath hot against her skin. "Tell me what I can do to put you at ease."

She swallowed and pulled him down, murmuring the words against his lips. "The last thing I want right now is to feel at ease."

Anora kissed him, putting every ounce of her need and want and hunger into the embrace. He responded by crushing her against his body and kissing her back. When he broke away and began to taste her skin again, everything went hot and hazy. She clung to his broad shoulders as he nipped her ear. Anora wanted to howl in frustration when she was thwarted by his height once again. And when his callused, ink stained hands slid over the silk nightshift instead of her bare skin, she couldn't contain the frustrated sound from escaping her throat.

"Then tell me what you want," he murmured.

"Bed," she gasped. "I want you in bed."

He carried her to the bed, still kissing her when they sank down together. The hard length of his body settled over hers. Anora's hands roamed across the fabric of his robes as she searched for the clasps, wanting to explore the firm muscle underneath. But when Marcus found the hem of her shift and pushed a hand underneath, her concentration shattered. She whimpered into his mouth as hand slid up the back of her thigh to her backside, slipping underneath her smallclothes and kneading the curve with his strong hand.

It had been nearly two years since a man had his hand on her skin that way and Cailan's hands were never like this. As much time as her husband spent training with his guardsmen, Cailan hadn't used his hands to keep himself alive every single day fighting the blight. Where Cailan's palms had been smooth and unmarked, the Warden's were rough and hard and felt even more sensual on her skin than she'd ever imagined. Dizzy with pleasure, she thought she might come apart just from the sensation of his calluses scraping against her soft skin.

But it wasn't nearly enough. His hips were cradled between her thighs and Anora could feel his arousal even through all of the cloth between them. It was absolutely maddening to be this close to him and yet still not be able to touch him the way that she wanted. The infernal garment covered him from his neck and arms down to his ankles and Anora cursed whoever had designed it.

Marcus shifted his weight and withdrew his hand and for a moment he was going to move back and disrobe, but then his hand was between her thighs, under her small clothes again and his fingertips were teasing her slick heat. She broke the kiss with a gasp, her head falling back against the mattress while he watched her writhe under his touch from behind the glass of his spectacles.

Pleasure uncoiled in her belly. Her nails dug into his shoulders as she tugged at the material. She swallowed hard and tried to regain her composure. "This is quite inequitable, Marcus."

He bent down to nuzzle the delicate lines of her collarbone, and she could feel his lips twitching into a smile against her skin. "I was under the impression that you were finding this rather agreeable."

"But you are not undressed," she said, trying and failing to keep the frustration from her words. "I cannot touch you."

A rumble of pleased laughter vibrated from his chest, the sound producing another curl of desire that was just as heady and potent as what his hand was doing to her body. His fingers intensified the stroke and her hips bucked in response. Anora bit her lip to keep the moan from falling from her lips.

"In a moment, I promise," he said in between trailing kisses to the hollow of her throat.

The pad of his thumb joined his fingers. Anora opened her mouth to argue with him further and insist that she get her way now, but whatever she was going to say dissolved into a moan as her body betrayed her.

She was well aware of how to pleasure herself, she had done so recently in an attempt to master her desire for the Grey Warden in fact, but it was nothing to having the man himself touching her. Anora's eyes fluttered shut as she quaked under his relentless hand. It didn't take long before molten pleasure melted through her, turning her boneless underneath his weight.

By the time she regained her wits enough to open her eyes he'd moved off the bed and was shrugging off the long, heavy robe. Other than a small vial that dangled from a slender gold chain, his chest was bare, and she could see a tantalizing blend of scars, hard muscle and a line of chest hair trailing to his breeches.

But before she could inspect further, he turned and sat on the bed. The firelight played off of his broad shoulders and the muscles of his back. Anora pushed herself to her knees, determined to press the advantage. In one movement, she pulled the nightshift over her head. In another, she slid out of her small clothes, so that by the time he had removed a boot, she was pressing her palms against his back. She heard his breath hitch when her slender fingers trailed over muscle and sinew. His body was all hard lines and firm angles, the body of a warrior, and despite his size he was all lean muscle.

She shifted closer enticed by the scent of clean male and autumn leaves, pressing her lips to the crook of his neck right below the gold chain encircling it. Her body slid against his and when her breasts brushed against his back, the boot he was holding fell to the floor with a thud.

"Now this," she said, her lips curving in satisfaction, "is much better."

He reached for his other boot with hands that weren't entirely steady. "But now I am the one at an inequitable disadvantage as I cannot see you."

It took her a moment to respond since she was busy nipping his shoulders and exploring the planes of his back with her hands. When she spoke her tone was unrepentantly tart. "You shall have to endure the deprivation. I have waited far too long to relinquish my advantage."

His eyes crinkled at the edges betraying his amusement. He jerked the other boot off. "Really?"

"Mmm, yes. Days, in fact." Maker, it had seemed like so much _longer_. She reached around his sides until she could skim his abdomen with her palms, then lower. The other boot fell to the floor when she tugged the laces of his breaches.

He cleared his throat as she worked the laces loose. She could feel the muscles of his back tense up against her skin. "How many days?"

"I'm not quite sure. You took me by surprise."

Upon his escape from Fort Drakon, Anora had prepared to face the Warden's wrath. But instead of useless anger and threats, they'd cleared the air with brutal frankness that she'd greatly appreciated. Marcus had put her on notice that he was not to be trifled with again, laid out firmly what he was and was not willing to do, and declared his support for her claim. Once she realized that Marcus's mind was as sharp as the blade he wielded, she was done for.

"Your spectacles made everything worse," she admitted.

Even from the side, she could see his brows knit together in confusion. "My spectacles? I had forgotten that I was even wearing them." He reached for the frames on his face.

She covered his fingers with hers to stop him. "Don't take them off."

His lips turned up at one corner. "I take it you like them."

Anora could feel her face heat, quite glad that he was not facing her. She returned her hand to the pressing task of unlacing his breaches. "Yes, very much."

His surprised delight was laced in his voice. "I had no idea. I thought I looked rather foolish in them, actually."

"Not at all. They're quite…" Anora paused while she worked her hand under his loose breaches and smallclothes to the hard length underneath. His hips jerked under her fingers at her touch. "…attractive. Your spectacles suit you."

She freed him from his pants, encircling the tip of him with her thumb, marveling at the feel of something so soft and yet so utterly male, gratified that Marcus's large size extended to all parts of his anatomy.

It took him a few seconds to form the words. He made a sound halfway between a rueful laugh and a moan. "If I had known you liked my spectacles so much, I would have told them to rush the repair."

He fell silent as Anora stroked him. The muscles of his neck tightened under her lips and his hands fisted in the sheets while his breathing grew heavy. But Anora knew she could do much, much better.

Anora withdrew her hands to the waist of the breaches tugging them down. "Now these you may remove."

He lifted his hips enough that they could slide the garments down his backside and legs. While he was occupied with kicking them off to the side, Anora moved again, this time off the bed, kneeling between his legs. She took him into her mouth and watched pleasure scour the remains of his calm stoicness away from underneath her long lashes.

He swallowed hard and groaned, the sound encouraging her more. Eventually his brown eyes went hazy behind the glass of his spectacles and he buried his hands into her unbound hair. Marcus moaned again, this time her name, and she continued to taste him, reveling that this powerful, intelligent and attractive man was finally at her mercy.

But not for long. Marcus jerked her to her feet and up onto the bed with him. She wasn't certain if it was by accident or design that she ended up sprawled across his chest, but she didn't waste her chance, shifting to straddle him. Marcus's rough hands grabbed her hips, and with a thrust he was inside of her.

Overwhelmed by the delicious friction, Anora tipped her head back and choked out, "Oh, _yes_."

His fingers dug into her skin while he moved. Marcus wasn't gentle, but Anora didn't want him to be. After two years of lonely nights in a cold, empty bed, her need was too great for that. She matched his rhythm with each rock of her hips, unbearable pleasure and anticipation building between her thighs.

Marcus groaned when she raked her nails through the hair that covered his chest and trailed to his belly. He pulled her down into a kiss that left her lips swollen and bruised. Her golden hair spilled around them, across both of their bodies and he plunged his other hand into her wavy tresses, his hand tightening into a possessive fist. His mouth moved from plundering her lips to tasting her breasts, the cool metal frames of his spectacles grazing her hot skin, sending more shockwaves of pleasure through her body until she couldn't bear it anymore.

Anora pushed herself up, her palms flat on his scar covered chest and arched back. Her eyes fluttered shut as she drank in the pleasure, but she could feel the weight of his gaze on her taut body, in the tension of his chest under her hands and in the urgency of his rough caresses.

Soaring with pleasure, she claimed the man beneath her with each rock of her hips and every gasped breath. But opening her eyes was her undoing. When she saw the way he looked at her, how his raw passion was reflected in the spectacles he still wore, the heat in her belly uncoiled making her cry out and tremble until she collapsed against his chest.

She clung to him as he continued to thrust, his large frame quaking underneath her. His arms wrapped around her, crushing her to his chest, kissing her again, until he broke away with a groan. Marcus's hips jerked as he buried himself deep inside of her.

His arms relaxed enough that she could breathe again. Her ear was to his chest and she could hear his racing heart and feel him catch his panting breath. Anora soaked in the feel of his body. The sensation of being held by a man was another experience she hadn't had in too long.

Eventually she looked up at him, resting her chin on his chest and sighing, "I should move."

He reached for one of the pillows, propping his head up so he could meet her gaze. There was something intense and dangerous in the soft way he was looking at her. His other arm tightened around her waist again. "Don't."

She looked at him with heavy lidded eyes. "If I stay, I'm going to end up falling asleep right here."

He shifted slightly, grabbing a fistful of blankets and pulling them over their still entwined bodies. "Exactly. Let me hold you tonight," he murmured.

"Marcus, one of us is going to have to be sensible about this." And she decided it was going to have to be him since she couldn't seem to scrape the willpower to move away from the warmth of his body.

He frowned. "Our actions already bend to the sensibilities other people enough. This may not be possible in the future, so we should make the most of tonight. I'll be gone long before your handmaiden returns in the morning, I promise."

Her spine stiffened. "You will not return tomorrow?"

Marcus ran a callused hand along the curve of her back. "I'll return as often as I can, for as long as you want me, but I don't know where my duty is going to take me while you…" His own pain was laid bare in his brown eyes, flashing against the glass of his spectacles. "…you know what you might have to do to hold this country together."

Anora held his gaze, for once letting her sadness show on her face. They had never spoken of it directly, but nevertheless, that she might have to marry Alistair was something that both understood. It was such an obvious solution, a way to quickly unify their increasingly divided nation, that even though her heart rebelled at the notion, her mind could not dismiss it.

Still the arguments welled up in her throat. That she did not need Maric's bastard son to rule. That he looked too much like Cailan that it hurt. That it was unfair and unjust that the moment she finally found something for herself, she might have to give it up for the good of the nation. That if she were to chose a man to sit on the throne next to her, it would Marcus and not Alistair.

But Marcus was both a mage and a commoner, and that could never be. She had known that when she had opened the casement window. That she was falling in love with this man and that she was certain that he loved her back did not matter. If marrying Maric's bastard would unite the country, if it would help her retain her throne and end the blight, she knew she would do it and that Marcus would help her.

"You're right," she said, finally, swallowing her sadness, determined to make the best of the situation they'd been handed. It would do no good to dwell on a future that had not happened and may not still happen. "We don't know what the future will bring, so we should make the most of the time we have."

Anora reached up and removed Marcus's spectacles, placing them on the nightstand before turning back and kissing his face. His arms tightened around her and he kissed her back, sighing when she settled back against his chest, both savoring what they'd just found and what might have to be given up, talking long into the night before eventually falling asleep in his arms.


	4. For Queen and Country

Written as a response for the Seven Heavenly Virtues Challenge "chastity" prompt at the Loghain livejournal community. Spoilers for _The Stolen Thron_e.

* * *

_**For Queen and Country**_

Loghain stood at the top of Redcliff Castle's highest tower, the vantage point giving him a view of the surrounding hills where the forces, gathered by the Grey Warden's treaties, were mustering. Even through the falling snow, campfires and torches dotted the inky darkness. Loghain could not see the troops below, but he could picture the soldiers huddled around campfires checking their gear, almost smell the boiled meat and vegetables as they cooked the last decent meal they might ever have, and hear the whickering of the horses and the soft whines of the mabari.

He knew that Cauthrien would be down there somewhere among what was left of Ferelden's army, walking amongst the men and women she now commanded in his place, inspecting weapons, issuing final orders, and calming the soldiers under her command simply by her presence. It was a habit he had instilled in her, one that when he was in command he had followed rigorously. Loghain knew from experience that soldiers could be pushed to their limits if their leader was willing to stand alongside them in the cold and the mud and the blood.

Down on that icy field by Cauthrien's side was where Loghain wanted to be, where he knew he should be, but he was a Warden now or so the grey warden claimed, and Loghain's oath bound him elsewhere. But the despite the right of conscription, despite the fact that he had travelled and fought beside the man for nearly two months, Loghain felt no more like a warden than he had when he drank the darkspawn blood. Although at least now he had a simple and direct goal, one revealed by the Orlesian warden a few hours earlier: to deal the fatal blow against the Archdemon. So while Loghain still chafed at being under the command of another, even someone as talented as Marcus Amell, it was made bearable by the knowledge that very soon he would be allowed the chance to die in the service of the country. Now all that was left was to get his affairs in order before the army started its march toward Denerim at daybreak.

So with one last thoughtful look back at the window, Loghain moved to the stairs and descended to the castle below. Even at this late hour there were still one or two soldiers in the hall carrying out last minute orders. He pulled one aside and inquired after the whereabouts of his daughter, unsurprised when he was told that the Queen had not yet retired to bed but was in a sitting room off of her bedchamber. A minute later he was pushing the door open and shutting it quietly behind him.

His daughter stood before the fireplace looking up at Amell who murmured something to her - something that made her face go completely blank. Someone who did not know her as well as Loghain did would not have known anything was amiss. But the tightness at the corners of her mouth and the way her hands shook betrayed her distress to her father. Anora blinked, swallowed hard and squared her shoulders as though she was bracing herself against something terrible. Loghain was about to demand to be told what that was when Amell reached out and brushed his fingers across Anora's cheek.

It was the possessive overfamiliarity of the gesture that ignited Loghain's rage; there was no doubt that the mage had touched his daughter in this manner before. Loghain had never understood why the mage had spared his life at the Landsmeet. From everything he'd learned and observed about Amell he knew that the mage wasn't the type of man to shy away from hard decisions, but at the time of the Landsmeet, it had not made any sense for the man to leave him alive. Over the last two months, whenever Loghain had demanded a reason, Amell would only say that it was for the good of Ferelden, but now the mage's despicable motive was revealed for all to see.

Loghain's voice cracked across the sitting room. "You _blackguard._"

Amell dropped his hand and Anora turned to face him, blue eyes wide. "Father!"

Loghain advanced, his eyes narrowed by his hatred for this man he'd just been coming to respect. "You dare abuse my daughter?"

Amell's brows rose ceilingward. "What?"

"So this was the price for sparing my life, was it? My daughter in your bed?" It all made a horrible sort of sense now. Amell would not be the first man to use his position of power to coerce a beautiful woman into performing sexual favors. He would not have pegged Amell for someone who would use a woman this way, but the evidence spoke otherwise. "You will regret ever laying a finger on her."

Loghain reached for his sword, just as Anora stepped in his path. She had regained her composure now, and her voice was both calm and authoritative. "Father, stop."

"You should have let him kill me, Anora, if this was the price."

"It is not like that. Marcus is not abusing me."

Confused, Loghain released the hilt of his sword and waved a gauntleted hand toward the silent mage standing still before the fire, wondering if Anora was lying to him. "Then what did I just see? He said something that upset you and then he touched you."

"He was offering me comfort. He'd just told me that about the plan for the battle with the Archdemon."

Loghain's eyed narrowed as his voice rose. "Comforting the Queen by caressing her face?"

She paused. Her hands twisted and for all of her Queenly bearing, all Loghain could see was the little pigtailed girl who'd gotten caught stealing cookies from the pantry again.

Now as then, she spoke in a bold tone, tipping her chin up into the air in defiance. "Comforting his lover."

Loghain took a long, hard look at them both, at the way Amell moved behind Anora, standing over her shoulder much closer than he should have been, at the way the tightness around her eyes vanished as she flashed him a brief look over one shoulder, and he knew that his daughter was speaking the truth. Anger and frustration and fear of an entirely different nature washed away his rage.

"Oh, _Anora._" He stalked over to the unlocked door and turned the key to ensure privacy before rounding on the pair of them. "Have you both lost your wits?"

"Father -" Anora began, but Loghain would have none of it.

"You have agreed to marry Maric's bastard. You are the Queen. If Eamon and the Bannorn found out about this they would claim that it was treason."

Loghain had no doubt that Eamon would stoop to that level. The Arl had been plotting ways to force his daughter off of the throne for years and this would be just what he needed. It was one thing for men with a long line of noble blood like Maric, Cailan or even Alistair if he was so inclined, to take and discard lovers as they pleased. It was even expected by much of the nobility. But Anora had commoner roots and worse, she was a woman. The double standard, that she remain chaste in order to ensure the legitimacy and lineage of the royal heir, ran deep and strong.

"I know what could happen to me. This was not…" She paused and dropped her worrying hands. "…planned, but it was entirely my choice."

The words took Loghain aback. Everything Anora had done for the vast majority of her life had been planned and plotted out with excruciating detail and followed through with single minded determination including her decision, made at a very young age, to marry that fool Cailan. Why now she would risk everything to bed this man…

Loghain closed his eyes and sighed. "You love him."

There was no hesitation in her answer. "Yes."

Loghain opened his eyes in time to see the word crack through the stoic calm that Amell almost always wore. The combination of pain and love and heartache was so raw that it was difficult to look at, especially since Loghain himself had looked at another Queen the same way nearly a lifetime ago. The reason for why he had not been cut down at the Landsmeet, why this rational and pragmatic man had spared his life, became clear. But as quickly as it came it was gone, so that by the time Anora glanced at the man standing over her shoulder, Amell had mastered his features once again.

Feeling every single one of his five decades in this world, Loghain dropped into one of the chairs by the fire. "I'm assuming Maric's bastard does not know about this?"

"He knows that I admire the Queen, but nothing more," Amell said.

"How can you be certain? He hates you for sparing my life."

Amell held up one of his large hands to silence him. "Even if he knew, Alistair would not use the knowledge to harm Anora."

"Your trust in the whelp is misplaced. Maric's bastard is an angry, bitter King. Other than myself, you're probably the person he hates the most. Do not presume to know what he would or would not do to take his revenge against you."

Amell's voice did not rise, but he pulled himself to his full height. The mage was nearly the size of the Qunari he travelled with, and even to someone who had seen as much of the world as Loghain, it was imposing. "I've stood shoulder to shoulder in battle with Alistair for nearly two years. I _know_ him. He is a good man, which is one of the reasons why I convinced him to marry your daughter and sit on the throne by her side."

Loghain's eyes narrowed. "This union between them was your idea?"

"It was the obvious solution, but I am the one who pushed for it, yes."

"Why?" Loghain asked, even though he knew what Amell was going to say, because there was a time that he had made the same decision himself.

"Because Ferelden needs them both on the throne."

It was both surreal and deeply painful to watch his daughter and the warden walk the same path as he and Rowan had taken over three decades earlier.

Loghain shook his head trying in an attempt to clear it, focusing on the danger at hand. "You will break this liaison off _now_."

"No," Anora said as she stepped closer to the mage. "It will end when I take my vows, but until then I am resolved to make the most of what little time we have."

"And what about you? Are you really willing to stand aside and let that whelp have her?"

Amell's broad shoulders tensed as he looked down at Anora. "Alistair is like a brother to me. I will not stand between him and his wife."

Loghain knew from bitter experience that it was probably far too late for that. Maric had found it difficult to look past Rowan's history no matter how hard she tried, and Loghain had no confidence that the inferior son would be able to do better than the superior father. He sincerely hoped that Amell was right and Alistair was ignorant of what was between them.

Loghain jabbed a finger in Amell's direction. "You were damn lucky it was me who walked through that door tonight."

"I will not make that mistake again."

"The only way that you will not make that mistake again, the only way this has a chance for working at all, is if you stay far away from her once she is married." Another hard lesson Loghain had learned from bitter experience. One longing glance, one time of standing too close together, one wayward touch that the wrong person saw and the Queen would be ruined.

At his words, Anora's eyebrow twitched upward, but it was Amell who spoke. "I am well aware of what I must do."

Anora turned, her face softening as she looked at her lover. "Marcus, would you please excuse us. I would like to speak to my father alone."

Marcus frowned but nodded and after one last look at Anora he took his leave.

Silence fell with the only sound in the room being the crackling of the fire while his daughter studied him with ice blue eyes that mirrored his own. She took a seat in the chair facing him, smoothing her skirts with the slender, delicate fingers she had inherited from her mother.

"Cailan told me that he'd heard stories of a love affair between you and Queen Rowan. I was never certain if it was just one of his flights of fancy or fact, but they were true, weren't they?"

Loghain stared into the fire for awhile before answering. "It was a brief affair during the rebellion. It ended when it became clear that her duty was with the King. Maric needed her strength to help him rebuild Ferelden."

Loghain did not add that it was because Maric had fallen apart grieving for that damned Orlesian spy, or that while his affair with Rowan had been brief, his desire had burned for years before. While the wounds had been deep, they had long since healed over. Still it was not something he wished to revisit, especially with his daughter.

"That's why we stayed away from Denerim for so long, isn't it? Because you were staying away from her."

He turned to face Anora. "It's why I stayed away in the beginning. And then I met your mother and she gave me you. You both brought me peace that I never thought I would have. I did not want to jeopardize that."

Anora's gaze flickered to the door and Loghain knew that she was thinking of the mage and wondering if the same thing would eventually happen to Amell. She shook her head and looked back at her father with a sad smile. "I don't believe that I've brought you much peace lately. I have disappointed you, I think."

Loghain leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and looked his daughter directly in the eye. "No." When she quirked a brow at him he added. "Frustrated and aggravated? Yes. Worried me sick? Most certainly. But disappointment? Never."

Anora swallowed hard and when she spoke her voice was not entirely steady. "Marcus told me of your plan. Is there no other way?"

Loghain laced his fingers together. "No."

"But-"

"Even if there were, I wouldn't want it any differently. It is a fitting end and a good death. One far better than I probably deserve."

She did not speak, she just held his gaze for a long moment before nodding her acceptance. She folded her shaking hands in her lap, and spoke with a forced lightness. "It appears that we are both determined to be stubborn tonight."

"Yes," he drawled, as he did his best to match her tone. "What a surprise that the Mac Tir's staunch determination triumphs again." After a pause he added, "You will be cautious, won't you?"

"As cautious as we can. I would ask the same of you, but…" She trailed off with a flinch, unable to finish.

Loghain nodded, rose, and dropped a kiss on her forehead. "Well then. I suppose that is all I can expect. Goodnight, my dear."

Her blue eyes shimmered but her tears did not fall, and at that moment he could not be more proud. "Goodnight, father."

Loghain left her in the sitting room and stepped out into the hall and marched down the corridor until he'd found the mage staring into the fire in the library. Amell looked up, when he entered, but did not say a word, simply looking at Loghain until he spoke.

Loghain sighed and gestured to the door. "Well go on then."

Amell's brows knit together. "I cannot believe that you suddenly approve."

"I don't," Loghain said. "But my daughter has made her decision and she needs you. So go and take care of her while you still can."

The mage nodded and rose and Loghain watched him go, torn between worry for his daughter's safety, despair for the heartache she would soon face, and gratitude that she would not have to endure the immediate darkness alone.


	5. To a Man's Heart

Originally written for the Seven Deadly Sins Challenge "Gluttony" prompt over on the Anora live journal community. A huge thank you to both Dinah Lance and Mutive for their awesome beta. _To a Man's Heart _takes place chronologically after the first short in this series: _Aftershocks_.

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_**To a Man's Heart**_

Anora leaned against the window casement watching her husband fend off his knights to the sound of ringing blades echoing up from the courtyard below.

Had the husband in question been her first, she would have worried for his safety. Cailan may have practiced night and day with his blade, but most of his experience had been limited to fighting knights like Cauthrien under strict orders not to injure him. Unlike her father's former lieutenant, the soldiers surrounding Alistair were not holding back. Neither King Maric nor her father would have ever allowed Cailan to spar at full force and most certainly not against four at once.

Since the husband in question was her second, she was worried for a far different reason. Alistair was truly skilled, his shield and blade an extension of his own body, and the ease and grace with which he wielded them spoke more eloquently of the hellish fighting he had endured than words ever could. Down below Alistair swiped his shield in a circular motion, hitting with such force that he knocked two soldiers completely off their feet. Another few swipes of his sword, and he had dispatched and disarmed the pair left standing with a series of blows that would have been fatal had he not been sparring.

The soldiers on the ground pulled themselves to their feet while the others rolled their shoulders and tried not to look like they'd taken a beating for the last several hours. But despite the fact that they did not want to show weakness in front of their hero King, Anora could see the fatigue in the way their blades drooped in their hands. Alistair, on the other hand, looked no worse for wear other than the fact that his normally unruly hair was even more of a mess – clumped and matted in parts, sticking out at angles in others. He should have looked ridiculous, but somehow the effect was genuinely endearing.

"Again, Your Majesty?" one of the soldiers asked.

Alistair nodded, taking a towel from an awaiting pageboy in the corner and wiping the sweat from his flushed face. "Again."

The soldiers seemed to barely suppress their sighs when the king lifted his sword once again, but salvation came from their captain. "Sire, these men have other duties to attend to, and will be riding out tomorrow to join the other forces you've sent to Amaranthine. If you wish, I can call fresh opponents for you."

Alistair's shoulders slumped in a decidedly unkinglike fashion. "Oh. Right. That's… never mind. I'll… I should probably clean up for supper. Or something." He waved a hand in their general direction. "You're all dismissed."

The courtyard emptied out leaving the king alone. Alistair dropped onto one of the benches on the side, resting his elbows on his knees with a heavy sigh.

Maker help her, he was _brooding_.

Usually when something upset him, Alistair was absolutely incapable of holding his disquiet back, but he had been withdrawn since returning from his visit to Vigil's Keep. While there had been a time when Anora had wished for nothing more than a moment or two of silence from her new husband, now that she had it, she found that she missed his constant interruptions.

No matter how delicately she tried to broach the subject, Alistair would not confide in her. Worse, he had not come to their bedchamber since his return from Amaranthine. With any other man she would have assumed this meant that he had taken a mistress, except she had received no such reports. Instead, he had taken to sleeping in his study and keeping mostly to himself when he wasn't sparring with his men. It was as though she'd deeply offended him, and no matter how she analyzed the situation, she couldn't figure out what she had done wrong.

Anora closed her eyes and rubbed her temple, wishing that she was as good at handling affairs of the heart as she was with matters of state. But her complete confusion at his sudden change in behavior was no excuse for inaction. Direct inquiry had not worked and neither had patience, so perhaps it was time for a more subtle, indirect approach. Squaring her shoulders, she headed for the kitchens with a plan.

Several hours later, Anora sat on a cushion by the fire waiting for her husband to enter his study, feeling more than a little ridiculous, but still quite determined to make the effort. Somehow she managed to keep from pacing, but could not stop twisting her hands in her lap. When she heard the door open, she forced her hands to still.

When Alistair saw her he stopped in the doorframe and gaped at her. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing as he ran a hand through his hair. The panicked look on his face made her worry that he might actually bolt back out the door and down the hall. It was not a promising start.

"Anora! You're… _here_. And not in the dining hall."

Dismay that he found her presence so unwelcome stained her cheeks the slightest shade of pink. Nevertheless, she gestured to the food arrayed on the floor around her. "Since you dislike eating in the formal hall, I thought perhaps tonight we could dine here instead."

He blinked at her. "But you never come in here."

She rose and smoothed her skirts, her poise allowing her to keep her disappointment from her face. Still her gaze dropped to her delicate fingers for a moment before meeting his gaze again with a curt nod. "My apologies. I should have asked before I invaded your privacy."

He stepped into her path so suddenly that she collided with his chest. Alistair grasped her arms to steady her, his hands solid and strong. When she looked up at him, Alistair cleared his throat and looked down at her with a tentative half smile. "No, don't go. It's only fair after all of the times I've barged into your study. Besides you brought me…"

After sniffing the air, Alistair grinned for the first time since his return, and it had the effect of loosening the cold knot of worry in her belly. He bent down and lifted the lid off of the closest dish with a flourish. At the sight revealed, his eyes went wide with pure boyish delight. "Oh _Maker_, is that a pot of melted cheese?"

She took her seat back on the cushion by the fire, sitting in one graceful motion. Alistair tossed himself on the cushion next to her with much less finesse but far more relish.

"It's an Orlesian dish called fondue," she said. "You use the little forks to dip the bread into the cheese."

The etiquette she'd drilled into him over the last seven months vanished under the weight of his gluttony. Alistair dug in, not even bothering with the correct utensils, simply tearing off a hunks of bread, dipping them into the melted cheese and shoving them into his mouth. He leaned back against the cushions, groaning and moaning around mouthfuls. Anora choked back the lecture that sprang to her lips, instead doing her best to take pleasure in the fact that he was obviously enjoying himself while simultaneously making a mental note not to _ever_ have this dish served while they were dining with important dignitaries.

She helped herself to a sampling of the other food and watched him eat. After a few minutes of covert amused glances between dainty bites and discreet sips of wine, her laughter bubbled out. "You aren't going to eat anything besides the fondue are you?"

He chased down a mouthful with a huge gulp of wine and nodded to the other domed dishes. "Not unless there's more cheese hiding in there."

"I believe that's all Cook prepared for tonight."

"A shame, really. Perhaps I should decree that all meals must be made entirely of cheese."

She arched a delicate eyebrow over her smile. "Yes. That would be a very wise use of your royal authority. You'll make us very popular with cheesemakers across the land."

"Well, I'm glad I'm good for something," he muttered. The cold knot of worry in Anora's belly tightened once again, summoning a frown from her lips. Alistair flashed her a rueful grimace. "Sorry. I'm just… Don't mind me."

She set her plate of food aside and returned her hands to her lap. "If it's something that I've done, please tell me," she said quietly.

His eyes went wide with obvious surprise. "What? No! You haven't done anything."

"Then why have you been avoiding me?" she asked, her eyes darting to the divan he'd been sleeping on since his return to Denerim.

The flush crept up Alistair's face, all the way to his tips of his ears. "I… well… because I missed you when I was gone."

As flattering as the words were, Anora was thoroughly confused now. She spoke slowly as tried to puzzle it out. "You missed me so much that you decided to stay away from me upon your return?"

He grabbed a hunk of bread and began toying with it, still refusing to meet her gaze. "Well, when you put it like _that_, it sounds stupid."

With great effort, she managed to rein in her frustration and refrain from pointing out that it _was_ stupid. "Alistair, I don't understand what's bothering you."

"What's bothering me is that I'm sitting here eating cheese with you." Anora managed to keep the expression on her face blank, but her posture stiffened sharply. Alistair's eyes widened as the words tumbled from his lips. "No. Wait. That came out wrong. What I mean is that while I really like being here eating cheese with you, I should be at Vigil's Keep with Marcus. Or he should be here with you, and I should be there alone. Or something."

She was still untangling what he said when he drew breath and continued, his upset growing with each passing word. "When my best friend killed the Archdemon, I wasn't there because I was so mad at him for…" He trailed off with a shake of his head, leaving the "for sparing your traitor father's life" unsaid but implied. "And now all of the wardens at Vigil's Keep have been slaughtered by talking darkspawn and the rest of the horde is tearing up the countryside and he's out there facing it by himself again while I sit here and eat _cheese_."

"There's nothing wrong with eating cheese."

"There is with the woman your best friend is in love with! And you know what the worst part is? That I _want_ to be here married and eating cheese because I like you. A lot. More than a lot, really." He groaned and looked up at the ceiling, covering his face with his hands.

For a moment Anora could only look up at him, once again completely at a loss at how to proceed. His words were muffled from behind his hands. "Go ahead and say it. I'm an idiot, aren't I?"

After a few long seconds, she hesitantly put a hand on his arm and said the first thing that came to mind. "I missed you too."

He dropped his hands and looked at her, blinking in surprise. "Really?" He squinted at her suspiciously. "You're just saying that."

She was equally surprised, but it did not make her words any less true. "I'm not."

"_Right_," he drawled. "You missed how I gripe and moan and get in your way, and how you have to explain everything at least three times. I'm sure you especially missed how I wear the wrong doublet and say stupid things constantly."

"You are rather likable, Alistair," she said, her cheeks staining again. "You have a good heart and you're willing to learn. I led this nation by myself for years and while I am good at it, at times I found it to be very…" She dropped her gaze. "…lonely. I did not think it would be so, but having someone who is interested and willing to help carry this burden is a welcome change. Even if he needs a bit of polish and tends to gripe sometimes."

"Even if he's not the one you want standing here? Even if he's the one coming between you and the man you really want?"

The guilt lacing his voice brought her eyes to his again. "Alistair, you are not standing between us. Even if you and I had not wed, I still could not marry Marcus and be Queen. He is a mage. Neither the people nor the bannorn would stand for it."

"But you could've still… _you know_." His face flushed again and he would not meet her eyes as he spoke. "Even now, I won't stop you two… um, that is, if you wanted to…"

The pain that lanced through her was as great as her desire to take what he was offering. She silenced him with shaking fingertips on his lips. "Don't. Please, just don't."

He took her hand in his as he protested. "But-"

Despite her efforts, the trembling of her hands was matched by a voice that wasn't quite steady. "The decisions we made were necessary. I can live with my choices. And right now, I'm choosing to be with you, because this matters to me. That's why I'm here making a fool of myself with this ridiculous pot of cheese."

He looked down at her for a very long, tense silence as she watched him struggle, praying silently to the Maker that he would not protest any further. Eventually he squeezed her hand as his eyebrows twitched upward. "So… this was a trap?"

Anora released the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "I was worried and I didn't know how else to get you to stay."

"Clever. Cheese is my very favorite bait." He reached out and touched her cheek. "And it's nice to be worried about."

Comforting warmth spread from his gentle touch. She glanced at what was left of the pot of cheese. "Will you finish it?"

"Most definitely," he murmured, drifting closer to her. "But first I just… I want to..."

Anora didn't wait for him to finish, cutting him off this time with a brush of her lips. The kiss deepened to the bittersweet tang of cheese and wine, tempered by sorrow for things lost but taking comfort in the possibility of what could be built instead.


	6. Learning Curve Part One

Two part fic written for a pair of prompts on the kmeme, so it should go without saying that the M rating applies for this one, and it's definitely NSFW. Since this one is Morrigan centric, I was going to post this as a separate short, but I think it ties both into the practical romance theme as well as at least one other short planned for the future so it's going here instead.

Also thanks again everyone for your feedback. It is most definitely appreciated.

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**_Learning Curve – Part One_**

They were all fools, every last one and Morrigan despised the whole lot of them, _especially_ the Grey Warden.

T'was bad enough mother insisted she take this journey with the Templar and the Circle trained mage, both of whom carried deep prejudices against apostate magics, but at Lothering the warden had allowed a magic despising Qunari and a ridiculous Orlesian bard to join their party. And just when they had finally decided to leave that cursed village behind, they'd been mobbed by a group of pathetic villagers with delusions of turning the wardens in for the bounty on their head. Despite the Grey Warden's efforts to keep the peace, the confrontation had quickly turned violent, and Morrigan, determined not to be impaled on the rusty end of a pitchfork, had done the sensible thing when surrounded by a group of angry, homicidal villagers. She'd shifted into a great she-bear and with a few swipes of her large paws, dispatched the majority of the panicking fools.

At first the look on the Alistair's face at her transformation had been quite amusing, but once the group's astonishment had worn off to the point that they started speaking again, Morrigan's very limited patience began to fray. Alistair's feeble attempts of wit were easy to deflect and most entertaining to turn 'round on him, but it was the infernal questions from both he and the bard that darkened Morrigan's temper. Their collective curiosity spawned the most idiotic queries, each one more ridiculous than the last - everything from whether or not she could change the color of her fur to something more pleasing (along with suggestions as to which colors would best compliment her eyes) to whether or not the bear form made her crave honey.

But the worst was the Grey Warden himself. Marcus Amell watched her in thoughtful silence for the balance of the day, and even though he did not say so, Morrigan did not doubt that the man must angered by her blatant and unrepentant use of apostate magics. So when she saw his large silhouette approaching her campfire that night, it was the last straw.

He had just stepped into the firelight when shook her head and snapped, "Come to give me a lecture, have you? I am in no mood to humor your small minded prejudices tonight, and I will not apologize for defending myself against being torn apart by an angry mob."

Marcus looked at her for a moment in silence as though he was absorbing her words. "I wouldn't expect you to."

Morrigan blinked in surprise. She jabbed her campfire with a stick. Red sparks flew into the air and faded away. "Then why have you been staring at me all day, Warden? What else am I supposed to think?"

It occurred to her after the words left her mouth that perhaps Marcus had been looking because he found her pleasing to the eye. Surprisingly, the idea wasn't as repulsive as she'd thought it would be.

"Ah." He sat on a log on the other side of her fire, resting his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers together. "I was merely trying to make out how you made the transformation. I admit that I am intrigued."

It was foolish to be disappointed by his words, she knew, but it irritated her to no end his interest was only about the magic. "Intrigued? And here I thought we apostates were abominations to be burned at the stake."

He spread his hands wide. "I never said any such thing."

"Mmm. But you disapprove of wild witches and think we belong in your tower to be guarded by fools like Alistair."

"I think the power we wield is too dangerous to be used unchecked, but I don't deny that there is worthy knowledge to be learned from those who are not tower trained."

"I see. Knowledge that you want me to share with you now?"

"I would like to learn from you, yes."

She crossed her arms and jerked her chin up. "Well, I refuse."

That he didn't seem perturbed by her denial in the slightest only fueled her irritation. "May I ask why?"

"Because you would not be able to learn. You have been ruined by your tower training. You are too controlled, disciplined and rigid to be able to master wild magics now." Yes, that was it. It certainly wasn't because she was irritated by his calm indifference. She did not care what he thought of her, after all.

He nodded thoughtfully. "I see. You do not think your skill is great enough for the task."

"What? No!" She shoved herself to her feet and glared down at him. "I could certainly teach even someone as hopeless as you if I wished."

His brows lifted. "Then there is another reason you won't do it."

Her mind grasped for another reason to deny him. "Tower mages deliberately keep themselves ignorant of things outside their narrow minded worldview. I see no reason to allow you to benefit from the knowledge you deliberately shun."

"I am asking you to expand my narrow minded world view. You are the one who is trying to keep me ignorant by withholding the technique."

She hated how damned _reasonable_ he sounded, as though she were the one acting foolish by denying his request. "Then perhaps I am simply not inclined to be generous!"

He studied her for a moment longer. The silence made Morrigan want to grind her teeth in confused frustration as she tried to puzzle out why she cared what his opinion of her was. Finally the mage shrugged and stood.

"Very well then."

Marcus turned his back on her again and began to walk away. Morrigan closed her eyes and sighed in defeat. "Oh, _fine_. Come along then before I change my mind."

For a moment she thought she caught his lips twitching in amusement in the glow of the campfire, and irritated beyond all belief she stalked into the surrounding woods.

Morrigan slipped through the woods quickly and silently, years of living in the wilds making her deft movements second nature. The circle trained mage moved with no such grace. Marcus must have stepped on every single twig in his path. Worse, he was a large man, nearly as huge as the Qunari they traveled with, and covered in plate mail which only added to the noise he made.

When they reached a small clearing, she stopped and scowled at him under the moonlight. "You have frightened every animal within earshot away with your noise. Truly an impressive feat."

The look on his face did not change but his amusement leaked into his tone. "Perhaps you can teach me woodcraft once we are finished."

"I will not be able to teach you anything if you continue to create such a racket. Remove your armor," she demanded. Morrigan placed her hands on her hips and added, "And your clothing as well."

His eyebrows twitched skyward. He blinked at her for a few moments before turning his attention back to his armor, his large hands working off his gauntlets. "I won't be any more silent without breaches, Morrigan."

"'Tis not just for stealth. You will have difficulty enough controlling the magic to change forms without having clothing to compensate for. It will be awhile before you will be able to shift while dressed."

Marcus frowned down at the gauntlet he'd just removed. She wondered if he was going to balk at her demand, amused that his sense of modesty would send him scurrying away when her earlier objections had not. But instead he asked, "What about my armor and weapons? Will I eventually be able to transform wearing them? Otherwise, I won't be able to use this skill in battle."

She considered his question for a while in silence while he continued to remove his armor. "I do not see why you couldn't once you have mastered the skill," she said finally. "Although I don't understand why you insist on weighing yourself down with armor and weapons in the first place when you could focus on your magic instead."

He shrugged. "I do focus on my magic, but I see no reason not to use all of the weapons and abilities at my disposal. I am good with a sword and shield and I am strong." That was an understatement; even Morrigan had to admit that he was just as effective with his blade as he was with his magic.

Morrigan arched her eyebrow. "Do not lie, Warden. 'Tis because you like to be in the thick of the fighting."

His voice turned wry. "There is that too."

It took several minutes for Marcus to remove the rest of his armor, and Morrigan explained the mechanics of the spell as he worked. He listened mostly in silence, nodding his head at times, asking a question to clarify at others until his armor and boots were set out on the soft grass.

Morrigan fell silent when he pulled his shirt off. 'Twas a natural reaction, she supposed, considering how well the man was put together. She was entirely certain that the curl of heat in her belly at the sight of hard muscle crossed with scars, or the way her fingers itched to slide through the hair that trailed from his chest to his breaches meant absolutely nothing.

Marcus's hands paused for a moment on the laces to his breeches, his lip curling up for a moment betraying his chagrin before he shook his head and worked his trousers free. And then he was wearing nothing but his smallclothes. Morrigan briefly considered letting him off the hook, knowing that the small amount of fabric remaining would not be that much of a hindrance to his training, but decided to hold her tongue. She told herself that it was because she was teaching him a lesson about making impertinent and unwelcome requests, but when desire slammed into her at the removal of the last piece of clothing even she could not lie to herself about her motive.

Her reward for her silence was the sight of the hard plains of his large frame illuminated by soft moonlight. That he was well endowed was another intriguing discovery.

"Well…" she said, impressed despite herself. She paused for a few moments and simply appreciated the view. Her lip curled up in anticipation. "Let's begin."

If he was discomforted by standing in front of her without his clothing Morrigan could not tell. The chagrin on his face was gone and his expression carefully blank. When he spoke, his tone was completely academic as though she were simply another mage from his infernal tower he was discussing magic theory with. 'Twas most aggravating.

"Any particular type of animal I should attempt first?" he asked.

Morrigan lifted her gaze from her inspection of his body to look him in the face. "Nothing too small. The more you deviate from your human size, the more difficult the magic will be. And nothing with wings as it will take practice for you to keep the concentration to hold your form and you would not wish to fall out of the sky, I think."

"Good point," he said as he closed his eyes.

"Visualize the animal in your mind's eye as clearly as you can, and when you are ready, start the spell."

He nodded his acknowledgment. For a minute or so, he stood still before her as he gathered his power. Marcus took a deep breath. There was a crackle of power as he neared the tipping point that would change him from man to beast… and then the spell unraveled.

Marcus opened his eyes and rolled his shoulders before making another attempt. For the next half hour, Morrigan watched him try the spell again and again and again. Each time it unraveled in exactly the same way. It was maddening to watch him fail, partially because her patience was limited and partially because she was becoming unnerved at how attractive she found him.

Finally she shook her head and interrupted him. "You are too disciplined. When the power mounts, you must surrender to it and let it carry you. The more you try to control it, the more elusive it will be."

Marcus rubbed his jaw with his hand. "Letting magic run unchecked is the opposite of all my training. It is not easy to overcome fifteen years of tower conditioning."

Morrigan waived a dismissive hand in his direction. "Do you see now how the tower has crippled you?"

He met her gaze. "Patience, Morrigan. I will learn this."

"Yes," she drawled. "And I will be as old and grey as mother by the time you do."

His only response was another amused twitch of his lips before he closed his eyes again to begin the spellcasting anew while she groused. Again, it failed. As more minutes passed, Morrigan considered the problem further coming to the conclusion that Marcus simply wasn't going to be able to complete the spell unless she intervened.

It was obvious that she was going to have to shatter his concentration somehow, and as she watched him standing there under the moonlight there were many delightful options that came to mind. Options that made her heart race in anticipation.

She waited for the spell to crumble before she approached, stopping directly in front of him, close enough that she had to crane her neck up so she could see his face. "This is not working. We must try something new."

Marcus's looked down at her. "Do you have something in mind?"

"Start the spell," she demanded.

He looked down at her for a few seconds before doing as she bid. Morrigan waited until his concentration shifted to his magic before reaching out and brushing her fingertips against the hard muscles of his stomach. He started under her hands and opened his eyes. Power skittered across his skin as his concentration slipped, telling her that the distraction was working.

He blinked down at her in surprise, but did not release the spell or move away. "_This_ is your plan?"

Morrigan traced one of the scars that ran from his belly up his chest. "It is helping, is it not?"

His voice was wry. "It's very distracting, I'll give you that."

"That is entirely the point. Continue with the spell."

Marcus continued working the spell, this time not closing his eyes but watching her as her second hand joined her first in the exploration of his chest. The more she touched him the more his concentration cracked, until the power surged around both of them. He clenched his hands as she shifted closer to him, and she watched him war between the instinct to grasp and control the magic and struggling against the spell's demand to let the power surge free.

Morrigan could sense the spell unraveling under his mental grip so she raked her nails down his chest, over his belly, down to his groin. His eyes turned glassy when she encircled his length in her hand. There was a sharp intake of breath as Marcus's hips jerked. He hardened under her fingers but before she could explore the interesting possibilities of that, his concentration shattered. He staggered backwards, out of her reach as power crashed over him and a heartbeat later Marcus's surprised eyes were blinking at her underneath a crown of antlers.

"Finally," she said throwing her hands up in the air, torn between relief that she would not have to tolerate his fumbling attempts at magic any longer and irritation that he hadn't given her much of a chance to explore his human form more. "Perhaps you are not entirely hopeless."

The stag snorted back at her and pawed the ground with one hoof.

"Now, let's see how long you can hold this form without letting it slip free. Follow me if you can."

Morrigan called her own power and matched his form, changing into a doe leading the way with a twitch of her tail. He followed, at first on legs as wobbly as a newborn fawn, but then growing in steadiness as he became used to his new form. A short time later they were trotting silently through the woods side by side. It occurred to Morrigan that this was the first time she had ever traveled with another this way. Her forays into the wild had always been a solitary venture; Morrigan had never shared this even with Flemeth. The intrusion into her solitude seemed most odd, but not as unpleasant as she'd thought it would be.

She increased her pace, racing through the woods, knowing that this would be a true test of his ability, picking her way deftly through the brush and leaves, along slender winding trails created by the creatures of the woods. Ahead she could see a large tree trunk in their path and she ran at it full speed, muscles bunching as she cleared it with a leap, but behind her she heard loud crash followed by a pained grunt.

Morrigan slowed and circled back around and found Marcus in his human form rubbing his shoulder with one large hand. She released the power that kept her as a doe, but with the moonlight blocked by the trees, she could only make out his shadow with her human eyes.

"Not a completely terrible first attempt," she had to admit.

Marcus pushed himself to his feet. "That was amazing. Thank you for the lesson."

"You are not finished yet. There is still much to learn."

"But not tonight," he said. "It is very late and we have a long way to travel tomorrow."

"True enough." She turned back the way they came, but his large hand encircled her wrist before she could move away. His grip did not hurt, but it was completely firm.

"Just one thing," he said as he bowed his head to look her directly in the eye. "I am not a man to be trifled with, Morrigan. I do not play games."

"You are not going to be peevish are you? I was merely trying to help." She arched an eyebrow. "And do not pretend that you found my touch abhorrent."

"I didn't," he said. Satisfaction made her smirk. "Which is why if you choose to 'help' me that way again, we will finish what you start. So be certain that's what you want." He released her wrist. "Goodnight."

Marcus did not wait for an answer, instead turning in the direction of the clearing and delicious anticipation for their next training session warmed her belly as she watched him disappear into the brush.


	7. Learning Curve Part Two

_**Learning Curve – Part Two**_

The nights that followed fell into a routine: the companions set up camp, the mages found a clearing, Marcus removed his clothing and the next several hours were spent honing the spell. Though she would have never conceded it out loud, Morrigan was forced to recognize that mage had both a quick mind and a deft touch when it came to working the complex magics. After that first night he was capable of changing forms on his own without any intervention from her and within a few days Marcus was able to shift into most animals, large or small, that he tried.

Marcus's skill wasn't the only thing that increased each night; Morrigan's newfound desire grew as well. Usually when Morrigan encountered a man she found attractive, she simply declared her intent and that was that. However, with the Warden she could not help but take his warning as a challenge, and Morrigan took great delight testing the patience of a man as difficult to unsettle as Marcus.

Morrigan did nothing as overt as before since that would have been far too unsporting. Marcus had drawn his line and the fun was in pushing the boundary without crossing it. If she could provoke him into crossing his own boundary first, even better. To this end, she used the pretense of the heat of the summer to shrug off her own cowl and shoulder piece, revealing the scant covering underneath, knowing full well that men found the curves underneath quite pleasing to the eye. Sometimes she stood as close to him as she could without actually touching him, allowing him to catch the tang of her scent, other times her barbed remarks were combined with lingering touches across his shoulder or her body barely bushing against his.

Most of the time he simply studied her with his inscrutable gaze, but soon Morrigan learned to recognize the tension in his shoulders or the way his jaw would lock, and since he was naked there was, of course, the most obvious sign occasionally betraying his own desire. However, any involuntary signs of lust the mage may have had were not evident at the moment. Instead, he bent down to retrieve his clothing even though he had only been practicing for less than an hour.

Morrigan frowned at him. "Surely you do not to mean to quit already. 'Tis early yet."

"It's time to try to try the spell while dressed."

"Not yet," she said as she reached for the breeches he was holding. In truth, Marcus had been ready to take that step _days_ ago, not that Morrigan had been inclined to mention it to him.

Marcus did not relinquish his grip on his trousers. "And why is that?"

Morrigan searched for an excuse. "You said you wanted to learn to use this skill in battle, did you not? We cannot test your concentration by sparing if you decide to spend the next several hours trying to shift while clothed."

The reasonable tone of his voice was completely aggravating. "I can't use this skill in battle unless I am dressed since don't plan on attacking darkspawn naked anytime soon."

"Fine," she snapped as she let go of the damned garment. "Do not listen to the witch with years of experience with wild magic. You asked me to train you, but of course with your tower training and a few practice sessions you think you know best. Do as you will, Warden."

His eyes narrowed as he appraised her in silence, and she could see that he was weighing something in his mind. She wondered if he'd reached the end of his patience, curious to see whether or not he would make good on his threat or simply march back to camp. But instead Marcus tossed the breeches aside, crossed his arms over his large chest and loomed over her.

"Alright, Morrigan." He said slowly and deliberately. His face darkened with something unmistakably dangerous. "Let's _spar_."

The shiver that traveled up Morrigan's spine was an intoxicating blend of triumph over her victory and anticipation over what both of them knew was about to happen.

Dusk faded into full night as Morrigan moved across the clearing and prepared to face. She gathered her magic, not waiting for him to shift, instead launching her arcane bolts of energy, but before the bolts could land, Marcus vanished. The magic hit the trees behind where he had been standing and fizzled harmlessly away.

Morrigan frowned, her mind spinning as to how he had managed that, when she heard rather than saw the movement in the grass before her. She had just spotted the lightening fast hare darting through the grass when he was human again, running at full speed for a few scant heartbeats and then transformed into an enormous bear charging directly for her.

Morrigan barely managed to twist out of his way. She released a pulsating wave of energy that slammed into the bear, shattering his concentration enough that the form slipped and he was once again a man. Stunned, Marcus staggered while Morrigan called more of her power, shifting from woman to spider, skittering out of reach and spinning her web. The sticky spider silk knocked Marcus onto his back, and Morrigan made certain that his wrists were stuck against the ground before releasing the magic.

She couldn't keep the satisfied smirk off of her face as she crouched down next to him. "I believe I have made my point about you requiring more practice."

Sprawled against the soft grass, he knew better than to struggle. "Do you do now?"

"Mmm, yes," she murmured. Delicious heat spread, and even though she had resolved days before to be the one to provoke him into making the first move, with him being so conveniently bound as he was, she couldn't help but straddle his hips. "It did not take me very long to get the better of you. You are certainly going to require more of my _help_."

The words seemed rumbled from his chest. "Remember my words, Morrigan. You start this, we finish it."

His physical reaction was immediate. Underneath her skirt, she could feel him hardening against the cleft of her thighs, only the thin fabric of her smallclothes separating them. She rocked against him and watched the pleasure ripple across his face, pleasure that matched her own.

She leaned down, allowing her breasts to skim his chest. "I do not think you are in any position to be issuing warnings, Warden."

"Or maybe you're celebrating your victory prematurely."

She arched her eyebrow at him. "Come now. You are completely indisposed. I can toy with you as I will, and my victory is both swift and complete."

A blast of ice cold air swept over her skin, and frost crystallized across her nearly bare breasts and torso. She pushed off him with a startled yelp to the sound of the frozen web cracking into little pieces. She turned and gathered her power again, preparing to become a spider once again when a powerful hand grabbed her wrist twisting her arm up behind her back. His other arm circled her waist, pulling her back against his chest.

"I warned you," he said, as his hand slid up her waist to the strings that held her scant breast coverings in place. He didn't bother to untie them, simply wrenching them off her body and then his hand was on her breast. Morrigan turned to look over her shoulder, sharp words dying under the pleasure of his touch when Marcus claimed her mouth with his.

The heat of his embrace alone seemed nearly enough to melt the frost from her skin. Morrigan's free hand reached up behind his neck, urging him on. His rough palm covered the frost clinging to the curve of her breast, warming her nipple with such delicious friction that couldn't stop the mewl of pleasure. But when Marcus turned his attention to the buckle holding up her skirt, impatience made her break the embrace.

"'Tis a belt!" she cried as she dropped her arm and pushed aside his fingers with hers. With a flick of her wrist she unbuckled it with her free hand. She pushed the skirt down, shimmying out of the material as best as she could with one arm still twisted against his back until it puddled around her knees, exposing her small clothes and thigh high leggings to his rough hands. "Did you learn nothing useful in that tower?"

"I learned this," he said, his breath hot against her ear. Marcus released his hold on her wrist, reaching around to cup both of her breasts again. But this time the hands that commanded ice and frost were heated almost scorching hot, melting away the remains of the frost from her skin. Rivulets of water trickled down her breasts and belly to the dampness that was already between her legs.

"And this." His hands moved down to the swell of her hips, but this time no magic, just a ripple of muscle and the sound of tearing cloth.

"And this." Morrigan shuddered when his fingers pushed into the slick heat between her thighs. Her eyes fluttered shut and she leaned back against his hard chest. He pinched her jaw between the thumb and forefinger of his other hand and turned her head so that he could kiss her again. The pleasure that crashed over her was nearly unbearable, and from the hardness between her thighs, Morrigan knew that he was only moments away from taking her from behind.

The ache in her belly demanded that she allow him, but her pride protested it would be too far easy. Morrigan covered his hands with her own caressing his thick fingers and then released a charge of lightening into his skin at the same time as she brought her teeth down on his bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood. He jerked back with a startled grunt leaving her free to scrabble forward again out of his reach.

She pushed herself to her feet to the sound of a string of curses rumbled his chest, turning in time to see wiping the blood from the bite on his lip. Morrigan s kicked off her boots and what remained of her leggings until she was as bare as he. "I am not so easy to defeat. You will have to do better than that, Warden."

Marcus's his face darkened in a way that made her only want him more. She watched the muscles of his body ripple when he stood, and this time, her name came out as a growl, "_Morrigan…_"

Her satisfaction bubbled out as laughter. Energy skittered across her skin and then she was a raven soaring through the cloudless night sky, the sound of flapping wings telling her that he was not far behind.

Delighted, she led him on a chase, soaring into the sky high enough that it seemed they were nearly among the canopy of winking stars, and then plunging into a heart stopping dive, spreading her wings to slow only moments from hitting the ground. But Marcus did not balk, the powerful white wings of the owl that he now was matching her own beat for beat. Night wind rippled over her ebony feathers as she tested him amongst the trees of the forest, darting between their trunks and limbs, but try as she could, she could not lose him.

And then the forest ended abruptly at the edge of a dark pond. They flew low enough that the flap of their wings made the still waters ripple. There was a screech behind her, and a blur of white feathers, as he dove for her. The owl slammed into her, knocking both birds into the water with a great splash, and when they surfaced, they were human once more.

Gasping and sputtering, Morrigan glared over at Marcus. He found his footing on the slick rocks underneath the water first, his large hand reaching for her again. But she knew if he touched her this time that she would not be able to resist her passion and their game would be over, so she called her power again. The crocodile's long, sharp jaws snapped shut just a hair's breadth from his fingers. She got the impression angry lips tightening into a hard line, and then he was underwater.

In the murky pond water, all she could see of him ahead was the otter's long tail. She chased him, splashing and snapping and crashing through the water plants that choked the pond, while he slipped effortlessly through them. She came close, but couldn't quite manage to trap him with her jaws. The otter scurried up the far bank of the shore, ahead of her and turned round to face her in a crouch as her shortened legs lumbered out of the water.

When Marcus released the magic and become a man again, she could see the fatigue tightening the line of his broad shoulders. Shifting so many times in such a short period took much power and Morrigan knew that both of them would not be able to keep it up much longer.

Nevertheless, he still had fight left. His large fist slammed into the ground, releasing the earth magic into the mud and rock. The ground under her clawed, scaly feet heaved, making it impossible to keep her footing. She dropped the form and was human for less than an eye blink. The mountain lion's form was much more nimble than either human or crocodile, and she was able to bound and leap out of the radius of the spell.

But Marcus was no longer human either, instead baring his sharp teeth with low growl under pointed ears. The enormous grey wolf and nimble mountain lion circled each other with slow wariness, both mages knowing that their duel would end, one way or another, within moments.

Morrigan leapt first, a blur of muscle and golden fur. She managed to graze his side with her claw, but even though the grey fur became matted with red blood, he did not yelp in pain. She realized too late that Marcus had allowed the blow to land intentionally so he could take advantage of the opening at her legs.

Sharp teeth closed around her back leg sinking into muscle and sinew as the great wolf flipped her onto her back. And then he was over her, his own blood dripping down onto her golden fur, his teeth pressing into her exposed neck. Her claws rested on his sides, and they both stilled, locked in a stalemate, knowing that the only way to continue would be to tear each other apart. Nearly simultaneously, they released their animal forms, both panting, both staring at each other in stunned silence and then they were kissing as furiously as they'd been dueling just moments before.

Morrigan's nails bit into his broad shoulders pulling him down. His large hand grasped the back of her uninjured thigh and pushed her legs apart. She arched her hips up to meet his as he thrust into her and they both groaned in pleasure.

And then it was a duel of a different kind, one of intense pleasure tempered by twinges of pain from the wounds and bruises inflicted on each other. Rocks on the hard ground dug into her back and flank, but she did not care. Morrigan urged him on demanding that he move faster and harder, scoring his back with her nails and biting the skin of his neck. Their bodies moved together, slick with water and sweat and blood until he pushed her legs over broad shoulders and each thrust felt like it would make her come apart.

Morrigan cried out until she was hoarse, reveling at the way his large hand tightened around her slender ankle, grasping her hard enough to leave bruises. She fought her own pleasure as long as she could, wanting to win this duel as much as she'd wanted to best him with magic. 'Twas another stalemate in the end. She trembled around him, he jerked above her, and scorching pleasure brought both of them crashing down.

He pulled away, collapsing on his back with a soft, pained grunt.

"You know," he gasped between panting breaths. "If you wanted to have sex, you could've just asked."

Still basking in the delicious glow of satisfaction, it was more than a few moments before she was able to catch her breath enough to speak. "But this was much more _fun._ For someone who does not play games, you are quite adept at them."

He shook his head. "No more games, Morrigan."

She sat up and faced him, laughing. "I agree. At this point, it would quickly become most tiresome, I think. So instead if and when you wish to continue our… misadventures, simply join me in my tent. If you do not," she shrugged, "then don't. 'Tis as simple as that."

Even though she could only make out the bare outlines of his face in the starlight, she knew that he was looking at her with one of his thoughtful looks. "Is it?"

"Yes. I have no designs on your independence, and I would only ask that you have none on mine."

There was a pause, and even in the darkness she could feel the weight of his gaze on her. Marcus nodded and pushed himself to his feet. "Alright."

"Good," she said, pleased that he was not plagued by the overly sentimental emotions of most men she bedded. "Until next time, Warden."

She did not wait for him respond, simply calling the scraps of what was left of her power, shifting into a Raven and soaring high into the night sky, thinking that perhaps her mother was wiser than she knew. Flemeth had chosen well by saving this Warden. He was powerful with both magic and muscle and even better when the time inevitably came, he would have no emotional attachment to prevent him from the either needed ritual or the necessary separation that would have to follow. In the meantime, she would have a pleasing lover who would not bore her.

And the Warden would come to her again, she had no doubts about that, for he was too intrigued to stay away. When he did, she would be waiting and ready.

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A/N: This is the last short in the series that I have completed. There will be at least one more (and probably a lot more than that) in the future as inspiration strikes and I fill prompts and write for challenges and such. So while this will still continue to be updated, it will be at a much, much slower pace. Thanks again to everyone who read, reviewed, alerted, etc… Feedback is fantastic and I really appreciate it.


	8. Fait Accompli

This short was written for the Morrigan Live Journal community Seven Deadly Sins Challenge "wrath" prompt. Like a lot of the short stories in this collection, this is definitely NSFW.

A big, huge thank you to both Dinah Lance and mutive for the betas. Without them, this fic would be an incoherent mess. And finally thanks to everyone who has read and commented so far. Your feedback is greatly appreciated.

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_**Fait Accompli**_

'Twas the moment Morrigan had been waiting for since the cold and rainy night her mother had plucked a dying Grey Warden from the top of a tower overrun by darkspawn. She had followed this man across Ferelden and back, fought by his side and even shared his tent for a time. But as Morrigan watched Marcus Amell's jaw tighten with each word she spoke, she knew it had all been for nothing.

He drew himself up to his full height, his massive frame an imposing silhouette before the roaring fire, and said, "No."

The word reverberated through the room, hanging between the Circle-trained mage and the wild apostate witch.

Morrigan's hands clenched in her lap. "That is all you have to say to my offer?"

His voice did not rise, but brown eyes narrowed behind a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles. "You couldn't think that I would actually go through with this."

"Why would I not?" she asked. "'Tis true that occasionally you allow useless sentimentality to cloud your judgment, but that did not stop you from convincing Alistair to claim his birthright or arranging a marriage for him despite his wishes. If you are willing to be so pragmatic with someone you claim as a friend, I do not see why you refuse to be practical now."

Marcus studied her with his thoughtful gaze for a few moments before nodding. "You wouldn't. Duty and sacrifice mean nothing to you."

"There is no need for sacrifice." Morrigan rose from the bed she wanted them to share tonight. "Have you considered what will happen if Riordan is not there to make the final blow as he plans?"

"Loghain has asked to make the final blow, and I have agreed. If he falls, then I will do it," he said, the shrug of his broad shoulders reflecting how little regard he had for his own life.

An unexpected shiver of fear raced up her spine. Such emotion was a foolish weakness, but she felt it nevertheless. "You would throw your life away rather than give me what I ask?"

Marcus's tone turned wry. "Don't pretend you're doing this to save my life. This is about you grasping for power. How could you think I would be reckless enough to say yes?"

"I give you my word that I will leave Ferelden and never return. This will not endanger what you have worked for."

"Even if that were true, why would I believe you? You've traveled with me for over a year, keeping your true purpose a secret. Half truths and lies of omission don't inspire trust, Morrigan."

Marcus didn't wait for a response. Indeed, he did not seem interested in one, instead walking to the table and turning his attention to the stack of vellum documents on top.

Stung by his indifferent dismissal, she gaped at him. Morrigan knew she was being a fool, but there was a part of her that regretted the loss of what could have been had she allowed this Warden to be more than a warm body in a cold tent. Had she not kept him at a distance, had he not taken her at her word when she pushed him away, they could have been true companions, at least for awhile.

Still, in the end, what was lost was irrelevant. All that mattered now was his agreement to her plan. And there was one weakness she had not exploited yet; a weakness she did not want to admit he had. But now was no time to allow jealousy to interfere when she was so close to her goal. Now was the time to use all of the weapons at her disposal to grab his attention and ensure her success, and if Marcus hated her for it, so be it.

"If you will not do this to save your own life, then consider how your refusal will affect others you care about. Like the Queen, for instance."

Marcus's eyes widened as his attention returned to her. A bitter smile spread across her lips. "Oh yes, Marcus. I am quite aware of why you stopped coming to my tent. You are not as discreet as you think."

He recovered quickly, putting the vellum down and crossing his arms over his broad chest. "Make your point."

"Her father or her lover may die. Surely she would not want that. Perhaps if she were aware of the offer I've made…" Morrigan trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid, her amber gaze darting to the door.

Marcus did not answer; he simply looked at her in silence. Morrigan arched an eyebrow in response. Moments stretched as the mages stared each other down across the room until finally Morrigan turned toward the door fully intent on carrying out her threat.

Just a few steps from the door, a rough hand encircled her bare arm. The familiar spark of desire skittered across her skin at his touch. Marcus jerked her around to face him. He loomed over her, his intoxicating nearness fueling the ache that had plagued her ever since he had left her bed. The slow and deliberate words were underscored by the way his fingers tightened around her arm.

"Stay away from the Queen."

"Then give me what I want," she murmured, breathing in the scent of clean male and autumn leaves. Morrigan trailed a finger down his chest, reveling in the feel of hard muscle underneath the robes, anticipating what he would feel like gliding against her own soft skin. Once he had not been able to resist her; perhaps it could be so again one last time. "Certainly the act of laying together is not such a burden?"

He pushed her hand away. For the first time, ire leaked into his tone. "You know that I am not a man to be trifled with. Anora is under my protection. Leave her out of your games. "

Morrigan's hope shredded under the weight of her jealousy and humiliation. She could not pretend anymore that mage was simply taking his pleasure or manipulating the monarch. Whatever envy Morrigan had felt in the past was nothing to the bile that crawled up her throat now.

Flemeth had been right. Love was a weakness and the Warden was a fool.

"How ridiculously sentimental of you to think you can protect her." Morrigan spread her hands wide. "Rumors are such nebulous things, after all."

A dangerous stillness settled over him as she continued to speak, and Morrigan knew her victory was within her grasp. Marcus just needed one final push.

"If the Bannorn heard whispers of how the Queen and her mage lover are cuckolding the new King, there might be talk of _treason_. Traitors to the crown come to such horrific ends…"

There was no warning. As soon as the last word fell from her lips, he moved, using all of his bulk to slam her against the stone wall. Pain lanced through her skull as the back of her head connected with hard rock, and then the ink-stained hands that had given her so much pleasure were tightening around her neck, cutting off her air. She grasped for her spells but they splintered in her mind, her concentration shattering when she tried to call them.

The hard lines of Marcus's face betrayed both his fury and contempt. In all of their travels and all of the battles they'd faced together, he'd never once looked at an enemy the way he was looking at her.

Helpless, she clawed against his forearms in her panic, her nails cutting into the fabric of his robes, drawing blood from the skin underneath. But the mage was nearly as large and as strong as the Qunari, and she could not shake him off. She grasped at the dagger on her belt, but with a word of charged power, he knocked it from her trembling grip.

Marcus did not speak until spots started to dance in her vision. Then the mage bent down until they were eye to eye. His spectacles magnified the searing fury in his brown eyes, but even more frightening was his icy calm voice.

"If anything happens to Anora, anything at all, it won't matter where you run and hide. I will hunt you down and _end_ you, Morrigan. Do you understand?"

She managed a jerk of her head and finally he released his grip. While she was gasping for air, he threw open the door and said, "Now go. And don't ever let me see you again."

Morrigan hissed as she gathered her power, and for a moment she was tempted to abandon her plan, give into her anger, and attack him for what he had just done. But instead she shifted into a wolf and fled. She raced down the empty and still halls of Redcliffe Castle, four paws padding against the luxurious carpet covering the floor, stopping only when she was certain that the Grey Warden was not following. With a hoarse growl, she was a woman once again.

Gasping for breath, she slumped against the wall. Her heart was hammering so loudly that she did not realize the bastard King was approaching until he nearly tripped over her.

Alistair looked down at her with a pair of confused and bleary eyes, swaying slightly. "What happened to you?"

Morrigan glared up at him. "'Tis no concern of yours."

"Haven't you heard? I'm the King. I even have a shiny crown," he said, his lips twisting into a bitter sneer. He threw his arms wide in a clumsy gesture that encompassed the empty hallway. "Everything is my concern now."

Morrigan pushed herself to her wobbly legs and took in the dark smudges under his eyes, scruffy stubble on his cheeks, and the smell of wine on his breath. "You're drunk."

Alistair leaned in close, holding his thumb and forefinger up before her. "Maybe just a little," he said in a conspiratorial whisper. "But I still want to know."

"Why would you possibly care?"

He shrugged. "I don't. Not really. Just curious about who put that sour look on your face, so I can congratulate them."

Morrigan's hand drifted to the bruises that were forming on her neck, wondering if she would ever forget the feeling of Marcus's fingers around her throat. "You are truly vile. Go and leave me be."

"Wait a minute." He tilted his head and squinted at her neck. "You're hurt."

"Your powers of observation are astonishing," she snapped. "With such a towering intellect, no wonder they made you king."

But her barb did not drive the fool away. If anything, he seemed _worried_. "We should do something about this…" She watched the thoughts turn in his head, slowed even more than normal because of the fog of alcohol. In another circumstance, it would have been most amusing. "Wynne! I should summon Wynne. She'll fix you up."

"No!" she said. The last person she wanted to see right now, other than Marcus, was the fussy, disapproving mage who would ask far too many questions. "Just leave me be, fool."

With a shake of his head, he muttered to himself, "And that's what I get for trying to help evil forest witches."

Alistair turned his back on her and walked towards the open door to his quarters. She watched him go, her ire cooling enough to allow her gather her wits and consider her options. Retreat was out of the question. She had come too far to give up so easily, and besides, she was too furious to allow Marcus to triumph. But while the mage's child had been her goal, he was not the only new Warden in Redcliffe Castle that night. There were two others, and one was right in front of her steadying himself with a hand on the doorway.

Morrigan's eyes widened as all of the implications of the idea occurred to her. 'Twas the perfect revenge.

"Stop!" she demanded.

Either Alistair didn't hear her or he simply didn't care. He just entered his room, swiped an open bottle of wine off of a nearby table, and grimaced when he found it empty. He put the bottle down with a thunk, kicked aside another empty bottle in his path and dropped into one of the chairs next to the fire. Morrigan slipped silently into the room and closed the door, making sure to bolt the latch behind her.

Alistair's head jerked up. "Didn't you just tell me to go away?"

"I have changed my mind. You said you wanted to know what happened and I have decided to tell you. The Warden and I argued. He lost his temper and tried to kill me."

"_Right_. And then he decided to put on a dress and dance the Remigold." Alistair snorted. "I'm not as stupid as you think, you know."

Morrigan rested her hands on her hips and glared at Ferelden's newest monarch. "'Tis true!"

Alistair's bitterness was a nearly tangible thing. "Marcus doesn't lose his temper. He becomes your best friend and then stabs you in the back in the name of duty."

"You're still angry with him." Morrigan barely stopped the satisfied smirk from crossing her lips. Alistair's outrage at the Landsmeet had truly been astonishing to behold. Even so, Morrigan had thought the fool too softhearted to hold a grudge for this long, but if he was still this bitter two months after the Landsmeet, this was going to be far easier than she thought.

"You could say that." Alistair's fingers tightened on the armrest. "Because of him Loghain will be standing with the Wardens when we march tomorrow."

"Oh, more than that," Morrigan said as she approached his chair. "Loghain is going to die a _hero_."

Alistair blinked at her. "What?"

"Whichever Grey Warden delivers the killing blow to the Archdemon dies." She arched an eyebrow at him. "You did not know?"

"No, Duncan never..." He trailed off. His brows knit together as he shot her a suspicious glare. "How could _you_ know this?"

Morrigan shrugged. "Because the Warden told me. That is his plan, you see - to allow Loghain to sacrifice his life." She cocked her head to the side and barely contained her glee as she asked, "Did Marcus not tell so you himself?"

The answer was obvious from the deliciously shocked look on Alistair's face. He sat straight up in his chair, mouth moving in silent protest. But the words did not form. Morrigan's triumph and satisfaction swelled. Marcus could not have primed Alistair any better for her plan had he tried.

Morrigan nodded to the door. "I speak the truth. You can go and ask the Grey Wardens if you like." When Alistair did not move, she spread her hands wide and continued. "Think of it," she said. "The traitor Loghain will be redeemed in the eyes of everyone."

It was like watching a wound tear open before her eyes. The fool King's shock was ripped away by an intriguing blend of fury and pain and betrayal that hardened his handsome face.

Alistair began to shake. "Shut up."

"Perhaps your betrothed will commission great statute in tribute to her father. Maybe Leliana will write a ballad about his sacrifice and bravery. Loghain will be remembered forever as the Grey Warden who saved Ferelden from the blight."

Alistair shot to his feet, reeling for a moment until he found his balance. "I said, _shut up_!"

Morrigan let him stew in his fury for a few moments before adding, "Of course, it does not have to happen that way."

"What do you mean?" he demanded, clenching his hands as though he wanted to grab her shoulders and shake the answer from her.

"There is a way to stop them. A way to ensure that no warden will die dealing the killing blow. But… I need your help."

Alistair shot her a suspicious glare. "What would I have to do?"

"There is a ritual, done on the eve of battle, in the dark of night." She paused, as she considered how much she ought to tell him. Alistair was not at pragmatic as the warden mage, and she knew that he would balk at siring a child he could not raise.

Alistair's question cut across her thoughts. "Which is?"

"You must lie with me," she said. Morrigan knew that he wanted her. She had seen the way he would watch the sway of her hips when he thought no one was looking. Surely between his desire, his fury and his belly full of wine, that would be enough incentive for him to join her in bed?

She saw the first stirrings of lust flicker in his eyes, but there was suspicion too. "There's got to be more to it than that. This doesn't make any sense."

Morrigan jerked her chin up. "'Tis all you need to know."

Alistair scowled at her. "I need to know everything, or I won't do it."

She could tell from the stubborn set of his shoulders that he meant it. Morrigan sighed in irritation that Alistair would pick such an inconvenient time to finally show some signs of intelligence.

Morrigan chose her words carefully. "If you lie with me and we produce a child, then the old god's soul will not be destroyed by the killing blow. Instead, it will be cleansed and absorbed by the babe. Ferelden will still be saved, but Loghain will live."

He looked at her in horror. "You want me to sire a bastard? You want me to do this to a _baby_?"

"It will hardly be much of anything after one night. Besides, it will not be hurt, merely transformed into something greater."

"Something like an abomination!"

"No," she protested. "Not a demon or an abomination, but something very old that was twisted by the taint and now restored. Surely even with your Chantry biases, you could see how purging the taint and preserving such a being is worth doing."

He threw his hands wide. "And then what? What happens to my child?"

"It will not be your child. After tonight, you will never see either of us again, but the babe will be cared for and protected. I will allow no harm to come to it."

Alistair's face twisted as he shook his head. "I… I can't…"

She knew he was slipping from her grasp. Her voice grew hard as she delivered her last blow. "Then I suppose you will have to learn to live with the fact that when people think of the Grey Wardens, all they will know is Loghain. No one will remember his treachery at Ostagar. All will be forgiven. And after he dies a hero, your friends and the man who you thought of as a father will be forgotten entirely."

At her words, Alistair froze. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. "_No._"

She took the last step, closing the distance between them. "Then let me help you, Alistair. Give me what I want. Take your justice. Show Marcus that you will not allow him to tarnish the thing you care about most. That you are a king and not a pawn in his clever games to be sacrificed and betrayed and discarded at his whim. Do not allow Loghain a hero's death." She laid her palms on his chest and murmured, "Lie with me tonight…"

He pulled away and turned toward the fire, screwing his eyes shut. Anticipation squeezed her chest and she could not breathe as she watched him struggle between vengeance and loyalty and duty and fury. And for a moment when his spine straightened and his face went hard, she thought his chantry upbringing had triumphed over his need for revenge. But Ferelden's King squared his shoulders and clenched his fists as he met her gaze.

"_Yes_."

"Good," she said, as she shoved him backwards. The back of his legs hit the chair and he fell into it with a thump. And then she knelt before him, unlacing his breeches, working quickly, not wanting to give him a moment to reconsider. His hips jerked under her nimble fingertips and she could feel his arousal through the fabric.

"Morrigan," he croaked. He grasped her hands in his. "Wait a minute. Aren't we supposed to… to kiss or something first?"

With an irritated huff, she shoved his hands aside and freed his length from his clothes. She arched an eyebrow. "There is no need to waste time on such foolish romantic gestures."

His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, betraying his panic. "But-"

Morrigan encircled the velvet tip with her thumb, and his protest died in a hiss of pleasure. "This is not a love affair. If you wish to indulge in such ridiculous sentiments, then you will have to find someone else when we are done here."

Before he could complain any further, she took him in her mouth. Underneath her long lashes, she watched him grip the arms of the chair with his hands so hard that his knuckles went white. He sank back into the cushion, any protest he might have made chased away entirely. Alistair's chastity had been well known by all of the companions, and she had never pleasured an untouched man before. He was watching her with such hunger and need that the thrill of it seared through her.

"Oh, _Maker_," he groaned. "Morrigan, I'm going to… I can't…"

She didn't stop until Alistair thrust into her mouth and spent himself. Morrigan sat back, taking a moment to gloat over his hazy eyes and heaving chest, reveling the power of being the first woman to have this man who had been a templar, a warden and a king. Then she stood and took a long pull from an open wine bottle on the nightstand next to the bed before fishing a piece of chalk out of one of the pouches on her belt and beginning to draw symbols on the floor.

When he caught his breath he spoke. "I thought we were supposed to…" He flushed all the way to the tips of his ears. "_…you know_. Even _I_ know that's not how babies are made."

"So they taught you something at the Chantry after all," Morrigan drawled. "You have never had a woman before. The power of the ritual will take some time to build. I could not risk you spending yourself too quickly because you are overeager."

"Yes, but now I'm…" He looked down at his lap, brows bunching in pathetic confusion. "…finished."

An irritated sigh fell from her lips. She paused in her work to glare over at him. "Did none of your Grey Warden brethren speak of their superior stamina or quick recovery times? They were _men_ after all." Alistair's understanding was like watching a torch flare to life. "Or did Loghain abandon them to their fates before they shared stories of their prowess with you?" she added with a sneer.

At Loghain's name, Alistair's eyes darted to the door. His lips thinned as though he was considering abandoning their plan, finding Loghain and killing him this very night. Instead he rose, wobbled for a bit and tugged off his doublet. "I thought they were just exaggerating."

"Well they weren't," she snapped. "Such ignorance for a man of two and twenty is an astounding achievement. Truly, your ineptness with women is without equal. Now do something useful and undress."

He fell thankfully silent at that, and Morrigan concentrated on drawing the runes on the wooden floor around the bed they would share. When she finished, she placed the chalk aside and pulled a vial of lyrium from her pouch. Uncorking it, she swallowed the liquid, feeling the surge of magic down to her marrow.

When she saw him standing by the bed still wearing his shirt, breeches, and a panicked look that bordered on genuine terror, she frowned. "After all these minutes, all you've managed to accomplish is removing your boots and socks?"

Alistair ran a hand through his hair. It had the effect of making it stick out at odd angles. "Well… maybe we should blow out the candles first."

"Don't be ridiculous. Remove your clothes or I will do it for you, and I promise that it will not be pleasant."

It took two attempts for him to cross his arms over his chest in defiance. Morrigan could not tell if his clumsiness was due to his nerves or the wine. "You undress first."

She rolled her eyes, cursing for the umpteenth time that Marcus had not been able to see reason. For all the thrill she had felt earlier, that she had to resort to bedding this imbecile was quickly becoming intolerable.

"Fine," she said, as she shrugged off her cowl and let it drop to the ground. The small covering of fabric underneath followed quickly. Desire and hunger flickered across his handsome face, softening the edges of panic that tightened his lips. He swallowed hard, staring at her chest as he watched her push her skirt over the swell of her hips and kick her leggings and boots aside.

He continued to stare at her, unmoving, until she crossed her arms under her breasts and arched a challenging eyebrow.

Taking a deep breath, as though he was about to be dunked in cold water, Alistair pulled the shirt over his head, getting momentarily tangled in the sleeves before pulling free, and then dropped his pants and small clothes. Now it was Morrigan's turn to stare. Even though they had traveled together for over a year, Alistair's modesty around the camp had never allowed her to get a good look at him. While the Warden had been quite attractive in his own right, the hard lines and angles of his body had possessed a roughness that kept him from true beauty. But Alistair was magnificent, almost too perfect to be true. Proportion and muscle and tone all working together to achieve harmony. She was so dumbfounded that it took her a minute to focus on the words that would begin the slow burn of the ritual spell.

The runes she'd drawn on the floor began to glow as power hummed through the room. She moved to him, until they were almost touching. Alistair shifted forward and reached his hand out. The look on his face was a combination of lust and wariness, as though he thought she might shock him if he touched her. His hand stopped short of her cheek and his gaze dropped to her full lips.

"Do you wish to touch me, Alistair?" she murmured.

His eyes went wide, and his parted lips closed as he swallowed again. "I… yes." The floor creaked as he shifted his weight, bringing him a breath closer to her. His next words tumbled out in a rush. "Ever since I first saw you."

Her triumph over his admission, of something she had known in her belly ever since Flemeth had brought him to their hut, was not insubstantial. A delicious ache pooled between her thighs. Her lips parted.

She leaned forward, breathing the words against the skin of his jaw. "Then act like the king you're supposed to be and take what you want."

Alistair grabbed her then with two strong hands on the side of her face and crushed his mouth against hers. Hungry for more, she parted her lips, letting her tongue glide against his mouth until he gasped. She seized the advantage and deepened the kiss and the tang of wine and lyrium mingled into a heady blend as she plundered his mouth. He kissed her back, his enthusiasm almost making up for his lack of skill. Alistair's fingers tugged at her hair, fumbling and tugging until it brushed against her bare shoulders.

Morrigan could feel herself drowning from lust. Knowing that they were mere seconds from ending up on the floor, she broke the embrace, grabbed his hands, and yanked him up on the bed. She scrabbled to her knees as he climbed up after her. Strong muscles coiled and tensed as he pulled her back into his arms. Sloppy kisses and fumbling hands seemed to be everywhere, but it did nothing to dampen her desire. Instead her lust was fueled even more by her impatience and frustration.

His calloused hand hesitated against the curve of one breast, his voice a murmur of breathless shock. "Maker, you are so soft…"

Morrigan covered his hand with hers, pressing his palm into her skin. "Stop touching me as though I will break. I am not one of those simpering females who will crumble at your touch."

His thumb skimmed her nipple, sending a delicious twinge of heat through her. He bent his head to her breast, his hot breath scorching her sensitive skin. "I want to…" He looked up at her as though he was asking permission.

She glared at him, wondering if she should indulge him or simply mount him and rid herself of this bothersome ache. "Then do it," she snapped.

Alistair took her nipple in his mouth tentatively and Morrigan sighed in both pleasure and impatience as he tasted her.

"Harder," she demanded, pleased when he complied. She took the chance to explore the hard muscles of his shoulders, as Alistair's other hand migrated to the curve of her backside.

'Twas not enough. As the ache between her thighs intensified due to the work of his mouth, his fumbling groping only made her want to be touched more. Realizing that he would never figure it out on his own, Morrigan snatched his hand and guided him between her legs, pushing his fingers into her slick heat.

Alistair looked up at her, blinking as she showed him where she wanted him to touch her. "Like this."

He nodded. With her hand still over his, he began to stroke her, clumsy and uncertain at first, but growing more steady as she began to rock into his hand. Then he bent his head to her other breast. She buried her slender fingers into his hair, urging him on. She bit her lip to keep from gasping. Fueled by her arousal, the spell began to surge around them, sending prickles along her bare skin.

She was so very close to release when he stilled. Morrigan choked out her frustration. "Why are you stopping?"

"What was that?" He looked down at his forearm. Goose bumps showed on his skin.

"Merely the spell, you fool. 'Tis no reason to pause."

"Oh." His lips broke into a smug grin. "Enjoying what I was doing, were you?"

"I…" The words died on her lips, unable to admit that this fool's fumbling touch had affected her more than she would have thought possible. She jerked her chin up. "'Twas the magic and not you."

He rested his forehead against hers and met her amber gaze. "Are you sure? Because it really seemed like you were enjoying this. _A lot_."

"Yes!"

He began to draw his hand away. "Right. Well, if it's the magic, you don't need me then."

She twined her fingers through his to stop him. "Wait. I…" She swallowed. "Don't stop."

"Say it again," he murmured as his fingers brushed her with a teasing stroke.

She squirmed impatiently. "If you stop, I will curse you with the pox."

Of all things, amusement flashed across his face. But his fingers returned, and the pleasure built once again. She began to tremble. "Say my name," he murmured.

Morrigan was so close that she had to breathe the words out between gasps. "Very well. I hate you, Alistair."

He bent and nuzzled the skin of her neck, his gentle lips and hot breath soothing the aching bruises and said, "I hate you back."

Pleasure crashed into her, leaving her clinging to his shoulders and trembling under his hands, while he trailed kisses down her collarbone. She shook her head to clear her wits, feeling foolish for crying out her pleasure. Irritated beyond words that Alistair of all men had managed to bring her release, she laced her fingers into his hair and jerked hard, tugging his head up.

"Ow! Hey, that hurts!" He rubbed his head with his hands.

"Quiet, fool. 'Tis time."

He scowled at her. "It wouldn't kill you to tell me nicely, you know."

She shoved him onto his back, his whining silencing as she straddled him. He reached for her wrists again pulling her forward into another sloppy kiss. Morrigan meant to break away, to start the chant that would start the final part of the spell, but when she felt the hard plains and taut muscles of his chest underneath her soft curves, she couldn't stop from melting against his body and kissing him back. Alistair's his hands glided over her back and flank. She could feel his hard length cradled between her thighs and she rocked her hips against his, letting him slide, but not enter, her slick heat. Alistair arched under her and moaned.

Morrigan pushed herself upward, palms flat on his chest, and began to murmur the words that were the most important part of the ritual. Wind, coming from nowhere, whipped through the room, causing the candles to sputter and flicker. And then she shifted and took him inside her.

She moved slowly, building the delicious friction bit by bit, letting the spell guide her. Alistair thrust his hips in response, throwing her rhythm off. But either he was a quick learner or was starting to get caught up in the spell, because soon his movements began to match hers.

Morrigan nearly whimpered as the pleasure built. She bit her lip hard to keep the sounds of pleasure from spilling out. But this time, Alistair reached up and traced her lips with his fingers. She could not resist parting her lips and taking his finger into her mouth, scraping with her teeth, soothing with her tongue. Ferelden's King shuddered with pleasure below her. Her own hands raked down his chest, and she leaned forward and tasted skin and muscle. Strong arms wrapped around her holding her close, and then before she could protest there was a ripple of muscle as he flipped her onto her back.

Their mouths met again as he pushed her into the mattress, the spell thrumming between them, increasing the rhythm. His skin glided against hers as he moved his hips. She arched up to meet each thrust, raking her nails down his back as the pleasure built, urging him closer.

There was another crackle of power, this time surging between the two of them. She could feel the magical connection, beyond their interlocked physical bodies, pulling the two of them together, building a pleasure that was nearly painful in its intensity. Alistair moaned her name against her lips. The spell stretched and twisted time, until it seemed as though everything except for the two of them ceased to exist.

And then it was as though lightning struck them. Magic cascaded through their bodies making them both cry out. Alistair jerked into her one last time, and then the world went dark.

* * *

The first thing Morrigan felt when she regained consciousness was the weight of Alistair's body crushing her into the mattress. 'Twas not as unpleasant as she thought it would be, and she spent a moment underneath his solid warmth before moving. She shifted and sat up, realizing by the way the candles had burned down, that she must have been out for at least an hour. Next to her, Alistair's eyes flickered open.

"Maker, that was… " he croaked, trailing off and reaching for the bottle of wine on the nightstand next to them. He took a long pull before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Wow."

While Morrigan agreed, she didn't answer, simply pushing her unsteady legs over the side of the bed. She could feel the fool king's gaze upon her bare back. She heard the shifting of silk and then a strong hand wrapped around her wrist and spun her around.

"Let go of me." Her words were sharp, but the tone lacked its usual bite.

"You're leaving already?" Alistair looked at her with those damned wide eyes as though he was actually disappointed that she would not stay.

Confused, Morrigan's spine stiffened. "Of course I am. I told you this was not a love affair. And I told you that I would leave when we were finished."

Despite her words, he didn't let go and she couldn't quite bring herself to move away.

"How do you know that the ritual worked?" he asked.

Her brows knit together. It was the last thing she expected him to say. "What?"

Alistair shifted closer to her as he spoke, his face flushing pink again. "Well, I mean, maybe we should, you know…" He cleared his throat. "…make sure." Alistair reached out with his other hand, resting it on the curve of her hip. "I wouldn't want Loghain to die because it didn't work the first time."

The desire that flickered in his eyes matched the burn in her belly. "You have a point," she murmured, as she traced the firm lines of his chest. "With someone as inept as you, we should do this twice just to be certain."

He pushed her onto her back. "Or maybe even three or four."

She cut him off with a kiss and for the remainder of the night they made certain that the ritual had been completed.

* * *

In the morning, Morrigan woke much later than she intended and this time when Alistair stirred next to her, she untangled herself from his arms and touched his forehead, murmuring the spell that would send him back to the Fade. As quickly as she could, she gathered her belongings from the floor, dumped them on the bed, and pulled her clothing and gear on. With no other reason for delay, she moved to the casement, taking one last look at Ferelden's sleeping King, when a wink of gold on the sheet next to him caught her eye.

She reached into her now empty pouch, realizing that the ring that she'd considered giving to the mage Warden was on the bed next to Alistair. Morrigan couldn't bring herself to retrieve it. It was too much of a reminder of the humiliation and anger she still bore Marcus. Better to leave it for the fool king as a reminder of the night that they had both taken their revenge.

With one last satisfied smirk, she turned to the casement, picturing the look on the Marcus's face when he realized that he had been outmaneuvered. Morrigan unlatched the window and jerked it open. As soft snow drifted into the room, she changed into a raven and took flight under the rising winter sun, leaving Ferelden's king and the father of her unborn child snoring softly on the bed.


End file.
